


Tangents

by ConfigurationSpace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Biological Warfare, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Head Boys & Head Girls, Imperius Curse (Harry Potter), Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConfigurationSpace/pseuds/ConfigurationSpace
Summary: Draco is placed under the Imperius curse by a splinter group of Death Eaters who are out for revenge after Voldemort's defeat. He befriends Hermione at Hogwarts during their 8th year, only to lead her into a trap. The war may be over, but some battles rage on. [Updated every Sunday]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Warning, this story gets dark, and will include torture as well as sexual themes. Having said that, those dark facets only comprise around 50% of the story content. The rest is slow burn Dramione with more levity. Visit my website at <https://c0nfiguration.space/> to find story and chapter playlists!

It was the stillness that woke her—Hermione was no longer accustomed to it. She didn’t know how to handle the quietude of the morning, the absence of human activity. For so long she’d jumped from one problem to another, the specter of an impending threat always hovering in the back of her mind. Now the silence mocked her, loud enough to wake her from her troubled slumber.

_That’s the sound of your parents not remembering you_ , she thought glumly before her eyes drifted open. _It’s the sound of your monumental and irrevocable fuck-up in the face of impossible circumstances. Mum and Dad should be here, but they’re not—because of you._

A few tears began to trail down her cheeks and onto her pillow as she lay paralyzed in the early morning sunlight, berating herself for the millionth time in the past few days. She could still smell hints of the fabric softener her parents liked to use in the soft pillowcase currently absorbing her tears. Indeed, remnants of their past lives still lay scattered all throughout her childhood home.

Despite her tears, Hermione still clung to the hope that staying in this house would help her find closure. She’d apparated here in a state of devastation and panic immediately after learning there was no longer any hope of recovering her parents’ memories without damaging their minds. After spending so many months surrounded by people, all she had craved was solitude so she could openly grieve for everything and everyone she’d lost.

In the months leading up to her doomed trip to Australia, she’d helped with the rebuilding of Hogwarts after the Final Battle, had testified at a handful of trials, had fielded an insane amount of public relations requests, and had attended far too many funerals. She was at once sick of human company, and terrified of being alone after having spent so long being occupied with the aftermath of the war.

A sharp tapping on the window behind her interrupted her morbid thoughts. In an instant, she whipped her arm out from under her pillow and jumped on the opposite side of her bed, wand drawn. She quickly lowered it when she saw the imposing owl staring impassively at her from the other side of the glass, taking note of the large envelope tied to one of its legs.

Sheepishly, she crossed the room and opened the window. The owl hooted in greeting before presenting its leg to her, flying away moments after she’d untied the piece of mail.

She slid the window shut while curiously regarding the oddly specific address on a letter she never thought she’d receive again—the eighth of its kind, a letter from Hogwarts. Her melancholic mood temporarily forgotten, Hermione wandered back to her bed and took a seat, staring blankly at the thick envelope for another minute before moving to open it.

She gingerly unfolded the thicker of the two stacks of parchment it held, her face filled with confusion as she read its contents before morphing into an expression of surprise, and then consideration. She lowered the parchment to her lap, staring unseeingly ahead of her and processing what she’d just read before scanning over the other pieces of parchment in the stack.

She’d just received an invitation from Professor – no, _Headmistress_ McGonagall to attend an unprecedented 8th year at Hogwarts in the Fall, a chance to officially complete her education after the shitshow of the previous year.

McGonagall’s letter was accompanied by a book list, a supply list, some accommodation details, and an academic overview. Elated, Hermione set the first stack aside and unfolded the second stack of parchment, her eyes widening when a small badge fell onto her lap.

_Is that what I think it is?_ Hermione sat stunned for a moment before reading McGonagall’s heartfelt words with incredulity. The Headmistress fiercely believed that as the brightest witch of her age, Hermione deserved a chance to be Head Girl just as much as she deserved a chance to properly finish her education. It was the part after this that caused Hermione’s brows to furrow.

_Draco bloody Malfoy?! McGonagall asked_ him _to be Head Boy?!_ Hermione’s elation faltered as she read McGonagall’s reasoning, her good mood ruined and veering towards petulant. The further she read, the more she begrudgingly agreed with the Headmistress’ line of thinking, but she didn’t have to like it.

It was one thing to have testified in Malfoy’s defense last month, but it was altogether different to have to work in close quarters with him. Beyond his role as her childhood tormentor, he was one of the few people who’d been present for one of the lowest moments of her life. Her gaze was unwittingly drawn to the ugly scar on her arm.

Immediately, she slammed her mental walls down as a memory from that night threatened to resurface. She took deep breaths to ground herself in the present moment. While she’d gotten better at handling flashbacks from the war, she didn’t feel capable of handling the loss of her parents on top of that trauma—especially not alone. So she was compartmentalizing for the time being. She took a deep breath and then exhaled.

“I could say no,” she spoke aloud to herself after a moment, breaking the still morning silence.

She shook her head. _But then I’d be admitting defeat. What did I fight for if not the right to be a part of magical society?_

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was let the likes of Draco Malfoy deter her from doing what she loved now that the war was over. Redemption was indeed more important than revenge after all, especially now. She reached for the small badge that had fallen on her lap and ran her thumb over the ‘H’ embossed on its surface.

As excited as she was at the prospect of completing her education, there was also some hesitation. Hogwarts didn’t exactly evoke the best memories anymore… not after the carnage that had taken place there only months earlier.

Yet even those terrible memories weren’t strong enough to completely dispel the wonderful memories she’d formed over the course of 6 years as a student in the castle. Perhaps this 8th year could be an opportunity to say goodbye to her childhood on a better note.

Another thought slithered unbidden into her mind. _What else are you going to do with your time? It’s not like you have a family to catch up with. You Obliviated them._

Hermione’s heart ached at the reminder, but she quickly chided herself for wallowing in self-pity, knowing it wouldn’t get her anywhere. _I did what I had to, and because of it my parents are alive, even if they don’t remember me. It kept them safe—that’s all that matters._

She gazed at the stacks of parchment in her lap, the immensity of that sacrifice weighing heavily on her. She was of age in muggle and wizarding societies alike now, legally an adult who was responsible for her own affairs. This would be the first of many big decisions she’d need to make for herself from now on, which wasn’t _that_ unusual at her age. She just wished her parents could be there with her for all these milestones. _I miss them._

“I can do this,” Hermione spoke resolutely.

She rose to her feet to begin getting ready for the day. She planned to inform McGonagall that she’d be accepting her offers – both to attend Hogwarts for one last year, and to be Head Girl—Draco Malfoy be damned.

In the meantime she had school books and supplies to purchase, and Diagon Alley would be a welcome distraction. She was glad for the excuse to take a break from this house which now felt more like a mausoleum entombing her previous life than a home.

* * *

Draco wanted so badly to despise her, to be disgusted by her—any variation of intense dislike would have sufficed, if only for the sense of familiarity it would have provided. But as he surreptitiously watched Hermione Granger pause in front of Obscurus Books to scrutinize what was undoubtedly her Hogwarts shopping list, all he could muster was annoyance at her predictability, and mild curiosity.

_She looks unwell._ He studied the drawn look on her thin face, the careful way she held herself, and wondered why she still looked like she held the weight of the world on her shoulders. The war had ended months ago, but she still looked as though she was in the midst of fighting some kind of battle.

This Granger was a far cry from the one he’d last gone to school with, still closer to the girl who’d been rendered helpless on his drawing room floor. He frowned slightly from behind the glass barrier and busy thoroughfare that separated them.

Given her obsession with books, he’d known she’d jump at the chance to attend Hogwarts again despite what had happened there only a few months ago. He’d been less sure whether she’d accept the Head Girl position once she learned he’d made Head Boy. He still wasn’t sure about the latter, but her presence in Diagon Alley all but confirmed that like him, she’d be attending Hogwarts for their 8th year.

While _she_ had the option of accepting or declining, Draco didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to end up in Azkaban. He was required to complete 8th year as one of his probationary conditions. Frankly, he was just satisfied to have received a second chance at all.

Lost in thought, he moved away from the window display at Scribbulus to pay for the writing supplies he’d gathered while watching Granger deliberate.

He thought back to the day when McGonagall herself had taken the unusual step of meeting with him in person to talk about his forthcoming Hogwarts attendance and to offer him the Head Boy position. She’d sternly informed him that along with the Ministry’s intense scrutiny of his school behavior, she had very high expectations of him for the upcoming year.

“This is above all a gift and a challenge, Mr. Malfoy,” she’d told him gravely, “A chance to prove not just to the world, but to yourself that you’re capable of rehabilitation in a society that would rather see you punished. Don’t squander it.”

Draco knew he was being handed a once in a lifetime opportunity (not that his grades didn’t already prove he deserved it). He planned to take complete advantage of it, especially if it meant improving his odds of succeeding in magical society post-Voldemort.

He wasn’t stupid—he knew McGonagall wanted to make an example of him, to show everyone that even someone with his notoriety could be reformed. Of course, he wasn’t completely convinced it was possible, wasn’t sure how much would be left of him once the trappings of his indoctrination disappeared, if they could even be eradicated. Yet he knew he had to try.

Short of stealing a time turner, there was nothing he could do to change what had happened in the past. And he was quite done with questionable magical artifacts for the time being, thank you very much. His only option was to look ahead and rebuild his reputation from the ground up for the sake of what was left of his family and his future.

McGonagall’s words had been perfectly timed, delivered only hours after he and his mother had been pardoned of their crimes for the part they had played in helping the Order. It was also only hours after he’d become the head of the Malfoy estate once his father had received the Dementor’s Kiss upon his conviction by the Wizenmagot. Lucius would now be spending the rest of his life in a lobotomized state in Azkaban, and it would be up to Draco to make something of his disgraced family name.

_Can’t say I’ll miss him_ , Draco mused resentfully. _He dug his grave, now he can lay in it._

He ruthlessly suppressed the parts of himself that wished things could have gone differently for his family, the parts that missed the man Lucius used to be.

_My father is long gone_ , Draco reminded himself.

There was a persistent undercurrent of pain when he thought of his father’s fate, but he refused to explore the feeling lest he feel any sympathy for the man who had jeopardized his family legacy in favor of a failed ideology.

Indeed, a stronger undercurrent of anger was all he would allow himself to feel towards the shadow of the man who’d raised him. Draco was ready to move on, ready to channel his anger and resentment in a more productive direction.

Which brought him back to Granger. She was already halfway to becoming an asset he could use to his advantage if she truly was returning to Hogwarts.

Finished with his purchase, he exited the shop while glancing at the empty spot she’d occupied a few minutes ago. He held no illusions about the reception he’d likely receive from the student body upon his return to school. He’d terrorized many from their ranks, and he and his family had made life miserable either directly or indirectly for an even larger number of them and their loved ones.

McGonagall’s offer had been as much for his protection as for a chance at rehabilitation, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to get him through the year unscathed. Still, Draco had a plan. It was well-known that Granger was a bleeding heart who strove to defend the underdog in most situations.

Draco planned to use that to his advantage now that he was the one who would be exorciated for his bigoted, pureblood heritage. As Head Boy and Head Girl, they’d spend more time together than usual, which meant that just by doing her job she would be shielding him from the brunt of his detractors’ antics while in each other's company. _If_ she accepted the Head Girl position.

It was a stretch, but perhaps getting Granger on his side would help improve public perception of him amongst his peers. He’d take anything he could get at this point. Even if she initially rejected his olive branch, even if she fought him, he knew she’d eventually feel sorry for him if he was making an active effort to be better. She was just that predictable. Considering how she’d looked just now though, he doubted she had much fight left in her at all.

The only reason he was even entertaining the possibility was because of the knowledge he’d gleaned from the _Prophet_ during breakfast a few weeks ago. He knew Potter and Weasley wouldn’t be accompanying Granger back to school because they’d already accepted fast-track Auror positions at the Ministry.

They were slated to start their positions a week and a half before the start of term, which meant he’d have more opportunities than ever to interact with her without the interference of Idiot 1 and Idiot 2 to muck things up.

Smirking, Draco made his way towards a less crowded part of Diagon Alley, stopping in an alcove by an empty storefront. He could feel the recriminating stares that at least a quarter of the alleyway’s inhabitants were directing towards him even now, but he paid them no mind. He’d quickly become accustomed to the accusation in people’s gazes since the end of the war, and especially since he was pardoned.

It didn’t bother him. In fact, he enjoyed knowing that his presence commanded any kind of attention, regardless if it was positive or negative. It was easier to redirect and mold attention than it was to earn it, and he had plenty of it to work with.

His smirk widening, he straightened his posture and disappeared into thin air with a sharp crack of apparition.

_See you soon, Granger._


	2. Chapter 2

Draco swept his calculating gaze across the sparsely populated Platform 9¾, landing on the crimson exterior of the Hogwarts Express as it billowed steam into the early morning sunlight.

It wasn’t nerves he was feeling—such weakness of character was beneath the head of the Malfoy estate, a flaw he could no longer afford to indulge. No, it was anticipation that was coursing through his veins now. After having spent so long confined to Malfoy Manor, he was relieved with the change of scenery, even if it meant he was walking into the lion’s den.

His compulsory return to Hogwarts was the launching point for the comeback he and Narcissa had planned for their family name while still under house arrest. They’d accounted for a variety of scenarios depending on the reception he received upon returning to school.

He was expecting it to go badly, but his mother was a little more optimistic. No matter how it went, it would be the first stage in a prolonged game he was determined to win. He _loathed_ the thought of remaining a social pariah.

Mother and son had arrived at King’s Cross station early so Draco could get a headstart on his Head Boy duties on the train, and in a bid to avoid the crowds that would surely gawk at them if given the chance. As it was, they were receiving death glares from two different people on the platform.

Narcissa cooly raised an elegant eyebrow in their direction before refocusing her attention on her son. Her eyes softened as she looked up at his tall form, and she pulled him in for a tight hug.

“You can do this, my dragon. Be strong. Remember, I’m only an owl away,” she murmured before releasing him reluctantly. Draco nodded and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“I won’t let you down. Take care, Mother. I’ll be in touch.”

Such a genuine public display of affection would have been unheard of from them before the war, but now it was a strategic move on both of their parts to humanize themselves and present a united front to wizarding society. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at the handful of people who dared to meet his eyes as he made his way to the Hogwarts Express and boarded it.

His expression remained stoic as he strode through the train’s various cars, encountering no one along the way. He stopped at the Prefect’s carriage near the back of the train, and made his way to the Heads’ compartment on the side that didn’t face the platform, feeling for all the world like he was preparing for battle.

For all he knew, that might be the case once this year’s prefects and Head Girl showed up. No matter. Come what may, he was ready. Few things could be worse than what he’d already survived.

  


* * *

  


She could feel the gazes of too many students on her as she made her way down the cramped train corridors. It was unnerving, to say the least. She returned the occasional greeting that was thrown her way, but at the speed she was walking, it was hard for anyone to get a word in.

Hermione had grown accustomed to attention since the end of the war, but _this_ was on a whole new level. It reminded her of the paparazzi that muggle celebrities regularly had to contend with. At the thought, Hermione’s heart ached—the subject of photography reminded her of Colin Creevey and his penchant for it. _He’ll never get to photograph anything ever again._

Snapping herself out of that depressing train of thought, she refocused on the task at hand, grimly aware that there would be many opportunities for her to practice this act of mental re-centering once she returned to Hogwarts, the scene of so many of her nightmares and dreams lately.

There were still two carriages to go before she’d reach the one reserved for the Heads and Prefects. Despite knowing she’d arrive far too early for the Prefects meeting, she increased her speed in the hopes of escaping the claustrophobic atmosphere that was beginning to develop around her.

She should have known it would be like this. As the only member of the Golden Trio to return for 8th year, it made sense that she’d be the resident carnival attraction, at least during the start of term. Now she knew how Harry must feel being constantly ogled.

Things had been fine when she was on the platform saying her farewells to everyone. It was only now that intense anxiety was beginning to set in. She’d received a warm sendoff from Molly and Arthur, and had gotten long and tearful hugs from both of the boys, along with promises to stay in touch.

She understood why Harry and Ron had chosen not to return to Hogwarts. They were ready to move on with their lives and become Aurors. Despite having received the same opportunity, Hermione had declined to follow in their footsteps this time. Still, she would miss them dearly.

Throughout the summer Ron had tried plenty of times to solidify their romantic relationship, and each time Hermione had rebuffed his advances with excuses. At first, she hadn’t even realized she’d been doing it, but after a few months it had been impossible to ignore. The loss of her parent’s memories had further contributed to her inability to commit to a relationship that felt like it belonged in a different lifetime.

In _this_ lifetime, while everyone was busy calling her a war hero, Hermione viewed herself as a villain for forsaking her parents. How could she make room in her heart for Ron when she could no longer even make room for herself? She was determined to resolve the rift in her heart before she went looking to anyone else to do it for her. She was just happy Ron had eventually come around to remaining friends when she’d told him once and for all that a romantic relationship wouldn’t work between them.

Realistically speaking, she knew that she couldn’t remain attached at the hip to her two best friends forever. Over the past few years they’d stuck together out of necessity and circumstance, but they were no longer fighting for their lives.

They’d won the right to live peacefully, and to grow as people, but Hermione was finding it hard to do something as simple as _live_. Attending Hogwarts for one last year felt like one of the few things she’d chosen to do just for herself lately, and it felt _right_. Now if only everyone would stop _staring_ at her.

By the time she reached the Prefects' carriage she was practically jogging, her heart pounding as various threads of anxiety began to coalesce in her stomach in the form of swirling nausea. She’d assured Ginny she’d be fine when they parted ways upon boarding, but now she wasn’t so sure. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to calm her unsteady breathing and regain her bearings.

Noticing that the compartment directly to her left was empty, she stole inside, locking the door and _Disillusioning_ herself to get a few minutes of silent reprieve. She focused on calming her breathing while simultaneously trying to still her trembling hands, dimly noting the sound of the train’s horn outside as the conductor called out a last boarding call.

A few minutes later, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, and with the gentle rolling of its movement, Hermione’s anxiety began to recede little by little.

As much as she wanted to hole up in an empty compartment for the majority of the train ride, she’d much rather fulfill her duties as Head Girl, which meant making her way to the compartment reserved for Head students and potentially facing the unpleasantness of Malfoy head-on. Strangely, the prospect of dealing with his downright terrible personality sounded marginally better than being stared at by the rest of the school right now.

She wondered what he would be like this year—if he’d be an outright arse like previous years, or if he’d turn over a new leaf. She almost felt naive for thinking this way, but Hermione wanted to believe that even someone like Malfoy could become a better person. Only time would tell, she supposed.

With that thought, she removed the _Disillusionment_ on herself, heaved herself up laboriously, and reached into her bottomless satchel to pull out her school robes, making sure to shake the wrinkles out. As she draped their comforting weight over her shoulders and inhaled the scent of Molly’s laundry detergent, she could feel the last vestiges of her anxiety attack disappearing.

“I can do this,” she muttered, and with a determined nod hitched her bag high up on her shoulder.

She slid open the compartment door and stepped out into the hallway, finding it as empty as it had been a few minutes ago. With another determined nod to herself for encouragement, she walked purposefully towards the last compartment at the back of the Prefects carriage.

All too soon, she’d reached her destination. A quick peek confirmed her suspicions that Malfoy had indeed arrived before her. He was lounging on the seat to her left, staring pensively out the window at the muggle structures that were whizzing by.

The last time she’d seen him was when she’d testified in his defense at his trial last month, but it had been from afar. Even at that distance, he’d looked more self-assured and healthy, less like the terrified, malnourished teen from 6th year who’d nearly murdered a man.

Up close, Hermione could now see that the past few months had been good to Malfoy, at least physically. She wished she could say the same for herself. While he’d grown into the beginnings of a powerful-looking man, Hermione felt stuck in girlhood, unable to move very far beyond the slight physique she’d developed while on the run with Harry and Ron. She _hated_ looking and feeling frail and weak.

With a reluctant sigh, she slid the door open and stepped inside. At the sound of Hermione’s arrival, Malfoy languidly redirected his attention to her, greeting her with a raised eyebrow and suspiciously neutral words.

“Hello, Granger.”

Surprised by his civility yet eternally wary, Hermione nearly stumbled with her response, “Yes, er, hello Malfoy.”

 _What else am I supposed to say?!_ she asked herself frantically. _It’s not like it’s_ good _to see him. We have practically zero good history to draw upon! And anyway, I hate small talk!_

“You’re here early,” she finished lamely, reaching behind her to slide the door closed. Malfoy didn’t dignify her with an immediate response.

 _Way to go_ , she chided herself as she broke the awkward moment by dropping her satchel on the seat across from him and sliding in stiffly, suddenly thankful for the table that separated them, a privilege unique to the roomier compartments like theirs. She hesitated to outright provoke him, unsure if his polite greeting was a feint or an indication of things to come.

Malfoy regarded her with polite interest as she made herself comfortable, and the lack of malice emanating from him was disconcerting in and of itself. Once she was settled enough to meet his gaze, he handed her a neat stack of parchment.

“I took the liberty of organizing the materials we’ll need for our upcoming meeting with the Prefects, including my suggestion for patrol schedules for the rest of the train ride. I’m open to any changes you might want to make.”

Stunned, Hermione narrowed her eyes and wordlessly leafed through the pages he’d handed her, amazed at the person sitting across from her.

 _Who is this and what has he done with Draco Malfoy?!_ she asked herself quizzically, completely thrown by his behavior so far. Where were the insults? The antagonism? The self-importance?

 _It’s pathetic that I’m so unaccustomed to being treated like a human being by Malfoy that this occasion of civility seems so momentous to me,_ she thought bitterly as she finished perusing his work. When she was done, she let her eyes lose focus and took a moment to reprimand herself.

_Only a few minutes ago you were wondering whether Malfoy had the capacity to turn over a new leaf. Yet here you are, preparing to demonize him despite every indication that he’s making an effort to become a better person. You’d be a hypocrite if you continued to punish Malfoy for behavior he’s not currently exhibiting._

Still, she couldn’t help but be suspicious of him and of his motives. There was too much empirical experience to draw upon—7 years or so of it, to be more precise. She shook those negative thoughts away for now.

“Thank you for doing this, you were thorough,” Hermione said finally, hesitantly raising her eyes to meet his measured gaze. “There are one or two more things I think we should add, but I can get those written up quickly before the Prefects' meeting.”

Malfoy nodded, taking the stack back from her while she reached into her bag for her quill and parchment. He leaned back in his seat with a purposeful expression once she’d lowered her eyes to the table and started writing.

“Let that serve as proof that I’m serious when I say I plan to do a good job as Head Boy this year,” Malfoy spoke eventually, interrupting the sound of Hermione’s quill scratching away on her piece of parchment.

She paused in her writing, keeping her gaze fixed on the table that separated them, unsure of the best way to respond to his declaration. After a moment of consideration, she decided to be frank.

“I’ll let time be the judge of that, Malfoy,” she responded firmly, raising her eyes to meet his with a grim expression that hinted at challenge.

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unphased by the unspoken challenge between them, “Yes, I’m sure the Golden Girl is waiting on a lot of time’s judgements these days. I can be patient, Granger.”

His tone lacked any heat, and she was confused by it. Her eyebrows furrowed at the direction their conversation had taken. She was unsure what to make of his words and even less sure what to make of their encounter so far.

This Malfoy was almost too good to be true, so much so that Hermione was half convinced someone could be using Polyjuice to impersonate him. She regarded him quizzically before deciding to just go for it. Why not ask him the most pressing question currently on her mind?

“What gives? Why aren’t you being a prat?” she asked suspiciously. Wait, that sounded way more terrible out loud than it had in her head. She started to correct herself, but quickly decided to just stick with her original, terribly-worded question so she wouldn’t dig herself deeper. Her curiosity usually tended to win over pride, and this time was no exception.

Malfoy took her antagonism in stride, taking a moment to consider his words before giving her his answer, “I’ve done enough terrible things. I want to show the world that I’m capable of good things, too.”

Hermione quirked her head in thought at his response, wordlessly returning to her writing. Instead of choosing to further acknowledge what he’d said, she spent the next few minutes finishing up the two pages she’d suggested for the Prefects packet. It was just as well, seeing as Malfoy didn’t seem to expect her to provide a response.

As much as his words pleased her, she couldn’t help but remain suspicious of his motives. _This could all be an extended set-up for an epic gotcha moment._

She considered the many reasons why Malfoy would want to get back at her, and then refuted each of them when she remembered that he was probably on strict probation after his trial. He stood to lose a lot more than she did in this situation, and he would be an idiot if he threw his newfound freedom away so carelessly. Hermione was convinced he was more intelligent than that, however much of an odious oaf he’d been during the past 7 years.

 _Still,_ she reasoned with herself, _If he were going to try getting back at me subtly and covertly (which would be par for the course for a Slytherin), this is exactly how I would expect him to do it. Butter me up, wait for me to put my guard down no matter how long it takes – and then strike!_

The more rational part of her mind overpowered this paranoid train of thought. _Based on those parameters, any act of kindness from a Slytherin could be treated as suspect._

 _What you view as buttering up in this situation is also what it looks like when someone treats you with basic decency_ , she reminded herself tartly. _Get a grip. If you say you believe in rehabilitation, then give it a chance—or shut up once and for all!_

When she was done writing, she handed the finished pages to Malfoy to add to his stack.

“Your word means little to me presently, Malfoy,” she said frankly while meeting his gaze, and continued stolidly, “But I look forward to the day when your actions cumulatively show me you meant what you said just now.”

At this, he smirked, “Don’t worry Granger, I won’t keep you waiting too long, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Hermione huffed incredulously at his cheek, exasperated yet relieved to see a glimmer of the Malfoy she was used to—at least his arrogance was something familiar in the face of his uncharacteristic consideration.

“You’re incorrigible, Malfoy,” she replied, rolling her eyes at him.

He went to work silently duplicating the stack of parchment in front of him so they’d have enough copies when the Prefects arrived, the ghost of his smirk remaining as he worked to magically replicate the pages. When he was done, he set the stacks of parchment aside with a satisfied nod and directed his full attention to her.

“I’m going to be straight with you Granger—you deserve that much,” he said with no hint of humor in his voice anymore. “I’ve spent the better part of the last decade tormenting you, supporting an ideology that would have seen you dead if it had prevailed. Apologies won’t be enough to make up for that, but it’s what I’ll start with. I’m sorry for making your life a living hell.”

She ignored his apology in favor of a question she found far more pressing, “That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but do you still prescribe to that ideology? Do you still detest my blood status?”

His response to her pointed question was immediate, “No, I don’t. Not anymore. Not since—” He cut off abruptly as his eyes shifted to the side.

Hermione nodded slowly, “That’s a start, I suppose. I accept your apology then, Malfoy. Merlin help you should you go back on your word.”

The last thing she had been expecting when she boarded the Hogwarts Express today was an apology from Malfoy of all people, yet here they were less than half an hour into their train ride and he’d already gotten it out of the way.

It made her wonder what else the school year might have in store for her. Perhaps being Head Girl with Malfoy as Head Boy wouldn’t be so bad after all. Still, Hermione couldn’t help but remain paranoid. It would take a lot longer than the past four months to let old habits die.

_What are you up to, Malfoy?_


	3. Chapter 3

For the third time since she’d left the safety of her single-occupant bedroom this morning, Hermione desperately wished she could retreat from the overwhelming bustle of Hogwarts. Her first week back at school had been a whirlwind to say the least, and her mental health had suffered.

Hogwarts had provided a fine distraction, but it hadn't completely eradicated the emotional turmoil that writhed just below the surface in her mind, as reflected in the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes and the pallor of her normally golden brown skin. She'd been surrounded by people constantly since returning to school, yet at times had never felt more alone.

In some ways the solitude was welcome amidst the deluge of social activity, but in other ways it only served to amplify the darkest aspects of her thoughts. This was especially true during the nights she spent tossing and turning in her bed, which in turn reminded her of the long hours she spent doing the same in her childhood home after learning of her parents' fate. It felt like she experienced the dark night of the soul _every_ night.

While huddling in her bed beset by anxiety, the future would yawn before her like an inexorable monolith, reminding her that it was coming whether or not she was ready for it. Worse, harsh echoes from the past would also chase her, nipping at her heels like ravenous wolves in the night. In her darkest moments with tears soaking into her pillow, an existential all-encompassing fear would overtake her.

That terror could hold her in its vise for hours if she stayed put, so she had taken to fleeing to the common room when it became too much to handle. The risk of running into Malfoy out there at odd hours of the night was worth the potential embarrassment if it meant a slight reprieve from her waking nightmares. Thankfully she hadn't encountered him while in this state yet.

Despite her struggles with sleep and anxiety, Hermione was determined to fulfill her duties as Head Girl and make the most out of her second chance at Hogwarts. Still, she was grateful there were only two hours left in the school day today, and another hour of Head meetings after dinner until the weekend was officially hers.

Thank Merlin living with Malfoy had been much less of an impediment than she'd initially guessed it would be. At his insistence, they'd taken the unusually proactive step of sharing their schedules and living preferences on their first night back at Hogwarts. Now they had a system in place for their daily schedules, one that helped minimize the butting of heads that still occasionally occurred between them. They barely saw each other, and that was probably for the best.

 _If only the rest of Slytherin had turned over the same leaf as Malfoy_ , she thought wistfully. It wasn't as apparent in the younger Slytherin students, but the resentment and dislike emanating towards her from some of the older Slytherins was obvious to Hermione after only a few days back at Hogwarts.

From the challenging stares that went on for too long, to the insults whispered behind her back, to the 'accidental' shoulder checks that caused her to drop her school things—it was clear that some of her peers held a grudge. While she deducted house points and handed out detention in cases where her Slytherin bullies lacked plausible deniability, there were still plenty of times when their bullying was too subversive for such heavy-handed responses.

Hermione took her position as Head Girl seriously, and as such she refused to abuse her power just to lower herself to the level of a bunch of sore losers—for now. She was also too prideful for her own good, which explained why she had yet to mention it neither to her Head of House, nor the Slytherin Head of House.

Lost in thought, Hermione failed to anticipate the very behavior from Slytherin that she'd just been contemplating on her way to a double block of Transfiguration. She was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of a few snickers coming from behind her.

"—stupid bint has it coming," came the derisive voice of Norman Burton, an entitled 5th year Slytherin who'd grown more brazen in his disdain for her in the past day or two. Although his words were directed towards two of his Slytherin housemates, he turned to make eye contact with Hermione as his group came to walk next to her in the corridor.

"Hear that, Granger? Not everyone in this bloody school worships the ground you walk on. Some of us still know where you belong—in the mud," he spat, pathetically obvious in his attempt to get under her skin, hoping to get a rise from her. He reminded her of a cheap imitation of Malfoy in his heyday.

Unimpressed, Hermione stopped to face them and raised an eyebrow, "Norman, I assume you understand the abject stupidity of blatantly antagonizing me like this, which tells me you're either dumber than I thought, or that something's galvanized you. Quite frankly, I'm banking on the former."

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared at her words, and though she could see his mouth preparing to spew more narrow-minded drivel, she continued, "Ten points from Slytherin—and that's a favor, Burton. One more idiotic word from you, and I'll show you just how exacting of a Head Girl I can be."

Hermione could see the hatred simmering in his gaze as well as in the eyes of his companions, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She'd been more than patient this week, and now she'd reached her limit. She also knew how important it was not to show weakness in these situations.

If anything, she was grateful this latest display from Slytherin had been obvious enough to warrant a points deduction. It meant she'd been able to do something about it—this time. She would have to talk to Malfoy about this before it got out of hand.

No longer interested in wasting her time on obtuse mouth breathers, she continued on her way to Transfiguration, choosing to ignore the indignant huffs that followed in her wake. Although she'd turned her back on them, she had her wand at the ready. It was holstered on her forearm for easy access in situations like this one, just in case some prepubescent idiot ever became over-confident and trigger-happy.

The war may have ended months ago, but it had begun to dawn on Hermione that in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, the underlying root of pureblood hatred had remained at least partially intact. It made her heart ache to think that everything the Order had sacrificed—everything _she_ had sacrificed—still hadn't been enough to eradicate such a deep-seated hatred.

Shaking off her morose train of thought, Hermione took a deep breath and schooled her expression into something more pleasant. It wouldn't do to let a few 5th year taunts ruin her last class of the day before the weekend. Resolved to put it behind her, she made her way into the Transfiguration classroom, ready to learn.

  


* * *

  


“You’ve been quite elusive this week, mate," Theo said amiably as he fell into step beside Draco after dinner.

The accusation implicit in his words was concealed beneath a thin veneer of companionable warmth as he spoke. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you’ve been properly whipped by these weak excuses for magical heredity.”

Draco's cool gaze cut left to Theo, unsurprised that only four months after the Battle of Hogwarts the school had already turned into a breeding ground for hatred once again. He wondered why it had taken Theo this long to confront him.

"So what if I have been?" Draco baited with a raised brow, holding Theo's gaze. "I have nothing to gain from doing otherwise. The Wizenmagot made sure of it."

Theo's eyes glinted with challenge, "You like your leash, do you wittle Draco?"

Draco's sardonic expression morphed into a sneer. He cocked his head to the side, "Compared to rotting away in Azkaban like my father? You'd be an imbecile not to choose freedom if you were wearing the mark that's on my arm."

Theo's nod was conciliatory, but his expression was calculating, "It's a shame Lucius didn't manage to escape after the Final Battle like some of his brethren did. I suppose that's what happens when your incompetent son's a blood traitor."

Draco shrugged noncommittally, impervious to Theo's elementary provocations, "Considering he got the Kiss and I'm standing here a mostly free man, I'd say I got the better end of the deal."

Theo chuckled darkly, "Pragmatic as always. So are you gracing us with your presence tonight, Head _Boy_? Fancy yourself a little back to school fête? Or does your leash not extend that far?"

Draco smirked, "Didn't know you missed me that much, Nott. In any case, yes, I'd planned on showing up to see what you ingrates are up to. In the meantime I've got business to attend to."

The pair split at the next corridor without another word, and Draco made his way to the common room that he and Granger shared so he could prepare for their upcoming meeting. He sat at their work table and began sorting through his notes wearing a pensive expression.

The past week hadn't gone the way Draco had anticipated it would. It was the small discrepancies that had left him feeling most intrigued. He’d spent his first week back at Hogwarts running his own personal form of surveillance on the rest of the school, testing the waters before he could choose the best contingency plan to use to his advantage.

It had meant less time spent with Granger at first, but he’d been checking in on her too, in his own covert way. He was concerned about what he'd noticed in the short week they'd lived together. She barely ever seemed to sleep, and seemed to be plagued by night terrors. He couldn't empathize—he rarely ever dreamt, and mostly slept without issue now that the war was over and his family's fate decided. Still, her performance at school didn't seem to be affected. If anything, her academic prowess was only fiercer now, something he'd noted appreciatively if competitively. Realizing he'd become distracted by her, he deferred all thoughts about his fellow Head Girl away for later.

With nearly all said and done, the results of his surveillance of Slytherin House were equal parts suspicious and relieving. To begin with, the power dynamics in the House of Slytherin had shifted in a direction he’d disregarded as unlikely when Blaise had warned him about it a few weeks earlier. Yet it had quickly become clear to him that Theo Nott was indeed at the top of the food chain now, with a considerable number of loyal Slytherin supporters who seemed too tight-knit and disciplined to have formed over the course of only a few weeks. Whatever Theo was pulling, it had been in the works since last year’s school term, at least.

Draco's jaw clenched. Theo would have been building his network of chums during the time when Draco was consumed by the fallout from attempting to complete Voldemort's task, along with the fallout of what he'd witnessed while Malfoy Manor was under siege by Death Eaters. Of course Draco wouldn’t have paid attention to something so seemingly inconsequential at the time while he'd been haunted by what he'd been forced to see and do as one of Voldemort's henchmen.

Looking at where he was now, Draco wondered how the war would have played out if he hadn’t unleashed Death Eaters upon Hogwarts. He wondered if he and his mother would have still improbably received a second chance if things had gone differently. More than likely, his family would all be dead. He felt a shiver of relief race down his back and chose not to think too long upon the worse fates that could have befallen them—that _could still_ befall them, if he wasn’t careful.

Draco could tell Theo was up to something. Like recognizes like, after all, and Draco was nothing if not experienced in the art of wreaking havoc. It was just that this was his first time being on the periphery, excluded from Slytherin’s inner circle, relegated to the level of an outsider in his own House.

On the first day of school he’d received nothing but cool tolerance from the likes of Theo, Marcus, Graham, and the others. He knew there had to be deeper motivations reining in their resentment towards him. He just couldn’t figure out what those motivations might be. _What’s the end game?_ The desire to know why was niggling incessantly at him.

Draco had begun to penalize his own house for their offenses, yet he still received nothing but cool disregard from his housemates. He couldn’t help but feel like he was playing a cat and mouse game with Theo and his cronies – as if Slytherins' antics were nothing but a smokescreen. Draco suspected his limits and tolerances as Head Boy were being tested to see how far they could be pushed.

_Curious indeed._

He looked up when he heard the portrait entry to the Heads' quarters swing open to admit a harried looking Head Girl, her mass of curly hair sticking up in a million different directions. It would have been endearing if Draco cared about that kind of thing. Unfortunately _cute_ wasn't really his box of jelly beans.

"Malfoy," she greeted absentmindedly, "Sorry, I just need to get a few of my things in order and I'll be right out."

Draco smirked, "You're four minutes early, Granger. At least wait until you're late to apologize. Or are you that much of a goody goody?"

She rolled her eyes as she made her way across their common room and opened the door to her bedroom. "Just for that, I'll make sure to take an _extra_ long time, you prat!" she called out over her shoulder before closing the door, but her words lacked heat.

She emerged nearly ten minutes later clad in her muggle lounge clothes, looking much frailer than her school robes suggested. Her disheveled appearance elicited a raised brow from Draco, but nothing more. _Maybe cute's my thing after all_ , he mused. _Merlin, what is_ wrong _with me?_

He would never be caught dead admitting it, but he enjoyed the domesticity their evenings in the Heads' common room afforded them. Given the struggle that seemed to be simmering below the surface in her, he liked knowing that Granger felt comfortable enough with him to let loose in some small way, however insignificant. It meant progress, and it beat slumming in the Slytherin common room any day. He was surprised to find that living with her made him like her more. She was growing on him.

With her short after-dinner routine complete, Granger plopped down in the seat across from Draco and exhaled loudly, "What a week. Alright, let's compare agendas so we can add some structure to this meeting and get out of here in time to attend those back to school parties we're supposed to pretend we know nothing about."

Draco snorted inelegantly at Granger's ability to jam so many words into a single breath, but nodded. He wanted to make an appearance in Slytherin's common room tonight to learn more about what Theo was up to—more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else.

He and Granger compared notes, and then proceeded to dive into the minutiae of their Head duties. At some point between a discussion about night patrol schedules and an argument about how to interpret a particularly obscure school rule, Draco zoned out. He found himself lost in the spark lighting Granger's eyes as she animatedly refuted his most recent (and admittedly ridiculous) claim.

"Detention with _Peeves_?" she asked incredulously, "We want to punish rule breakers, not scar them for life!"

Draco shook himself out of his reverie and shrugged, "Nothing less than a scarring experience will work on some of the idiots we have the misfortune of calling classmates. And even then, some of them are too far gone for help."

It was obvious that Granger could no longer tell if he was joking or not. For that matter, neither could he. It was true after all. Only a week in, and he could already see the cracks beginning to show at Hogwarts. Old prejudices were creeping in, as if a war hadn't just been fought to refute the very insults that were being slung around campus today.

Granger deflated before his eyes and nodded grimly across from him. She took a moment to stare off into space, her mind clearly elsewhere. Seeing the effect his words had on her, he found himself wishing he hadn't said anything to break their humorous interlude. She looked so much smaller when she wasn't in the process of ripping him a new one.

"Have you noticed it?" she asked after a beat, "The Slytherin bullying, I mean? It's oddly selective, isn't it?"

Draco nodded, deciding now was the time he'd offer another olive branch in his efforts to build a bridge between himself and the young woman across from him.

"I've noticed. It's the only reason I'm showing my face at Slytherin's party tonight," he admitted, "My housemates have been far more brazen than I would have expected them to be so soon after the war. Something's going on, and I want to know what."

Granger looked at him thoughtfully, "And if something _is_ going on?" she queried, "You've never exactly struck me as the heroic or do-gooder type, Malfoy. Not unless you have something to gain from it. In fact, if you'd asked me a few months ago I would have expected you to be in on whatever Slytherin's up to."

She was right, and they both knew it. Draco ground his teeth and counted to ten in an attempt to keep his cool before responding, "You're not wrong, Granger, but I'm not the same person I was a few months ago. Turns out being scarred for life was the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

She considered him for a moment before conceding, "Fair enough. I won't apologize, but as long as you remain a decent human being I'll refrain from needling you for behavior you no longer exhibit."

Draco huffed out a dry chuckle and realized that even getting _this_ much from someone like Granger so soon after the start of term was plenty, and indeed more than he probably deserved. One side of his mouth lifted in a tiny involuntary grin before he could stop himself.

Her expression transformed into one of surprise for a split-second before morphing into arch imperiousness, "Don't make me regret it."

"Far be it from me to ever earn your ire again, Granger," he drawled, his tone damn near playful. _What the hell am I doing?!_ , he wondered frantically, _Am I_ flirting _with Granger?!_

She rolled her eyes at him before standing and stretching languidly, "See to it that you don't, peasant. See to it that you don't."

" _Peasant_? As if. Are we done here?" he asked, scoffing as he scooted his chair back, nearly catching Crookshanks' tail in the process. The fluffy monstrosity hissed at him and gave Draco an agitated flick of his tail before stalking off into another corner of the common room.

Granger nodded absentmindedly and made her way to the loveseat Crookshanks had chosen to sprawl out upon, giving him some scratches on the belly and cooing at him while he purred in response. Draco rolled his eyes and stood up to stretch as well, unwilling to stick around for one more second of the disgusting display of affection. That stupid cat was a master at eliciting sympathy.

"I'd wish you a good night," Draco teased as he made his way to his bedroom, "But I can't even begin to imagine what inanities you Gryffindors must get up to when you have an excuse to celebrate. Knowing your housemates, someone's likely to end up choking on their own sp-"

Granger cut him off sweetly, "Don't want to hear it Malfoy. Just continue on your merry way and relieve me of your presence. Have fun getting alcohol poisoning!"

This time his grin was full-fledged, "That's the spirit, Granger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Thanks to those of you who've expressed interest in this story! Heads up, next chapter is where things pick up and I'll be changing the rating of the story to reflect that when I'm ready to publish it next week. I'll also be posting warnings about these things in the upcoming chapters in case you'd like to keep reading without reading the darkest parts. Find me on Twitter @config_space, Tumblr @configuration-space, and Reddit @configuration-space if you'd like to connect with me online!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains depictions of torture and sexual descriptions. If that type of content potentially bothers you, then please read the sanitized version or skip this chapter altogether. Feel free to reach out to me for a sanitized chapter, or read it on my website at <https://c0nfiguration.space/writing/tangents/chapter-4/sanitized.html>.

An hour later, as Draco took his third sip of Firewhiskey while lounging with Blaise and Pansy in the Slytherin common room, he once again found himself wondering what he was failing to see. It was obvious that a large contingent of his housemates were up to no good. He could see it in their body language, in the way they averted their gazes after a second or two, in the things they skirted around saying. But just how bad was it?

"—still can't believe the gall," railed an obviously drunk Norman Burton as he slouched with his entourage in the archway by Draco's sitting area, "That stupid mudblood bitch has no right to belittle me! _No right!_ "

Draco cocked his head at the scene the 5th year was beginning to cause.

_Someone can't hold his alcohol_.

He caught Burton's gaze as the younger man continued his sloppy tirade, suspecting he knew exactly who had caused such a churlish outburst.

_Granger's been at it again._ He couldn't help but smirk internally at the thought. _Good for her. Idiots like Norman Burton need to be taken down a peg or two._

Realizing he'd been noticed, Burton slunk his way over to Draco, incorrectly assuming they shared solidarity over bigotry that Draco no longer harbored after the war. Burton's stupid gaggle of cronies followed behind him like mindless lemmings, crowding around the sitting area Malfoy had been sharing silently with Blaise and Pansy.

"Malfoy knows what I mean," Burton said smugly to the friend on his left, "He's stuck with the bitch 24/7. What's it like living with Granger, Malfoy?

Draco raised an eyebrow at Burton's question, "You're speaking to your Head Boy, who also happens to be a former Death Eater. We're not friends. Is that really the tone you want to take with me?"

Burton's face paled considerably. "I-I'm just saying what everyone here's thinking. I thought y-you of all people would agree with me."

"Well you thought wrong, Burton," Draco replied mockingly, "It benefits me much more to side with the winning side of history, and that's exactly what I intend to do."

Before Burton had a chance to respond to the insult, Theo emerged from the shadows beyond the adjacent archway, a knowing smirk on his face.

"How progressive of you," he teased sardonically. Curiously, Burton allowed the interruption, deferring to Theo's authority in the social situation. _Interesting indeed._

Theo continued, "You disappoint me in your predictability, Malfoy. Can't say I blame you, all things considered. But still, what a fall from grace. Why don't I show you what the winning side of history _really_ promises to look like?"

Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion at Theo's entreaty, a million thoughts and warnings racing through his head. He knew an opening when he saw one. This was his chance to figure out what the _fuck_ was going on in Slytherin.

There was a good probability it could be a set-up of some sort, but Draco had come to this Merlinforsaken party for answers, and he was damned well going to get them one way or another.

_Fuck it, I'll play whatever game you're playing, Theo._

"The battle's already been won, Nott. What history is there to change?" Draco asked stiffly, finding it easy enough to infuse suspicion and distrust in his expression and tone.

"Oh there's history that's yet to be made, Malfoy," Theo said with an oily assurance, gesturing at the common room around them and at its inhabitants, most of whom were upperclassmen.

He turned to leave the way he came through the darkened archway, "You can either be a part of it or be left behind. Your choice. You coming, or not?"

It took only a split-second for Draco to make his decision—this was what he'd come here for, after all. He could be walking into a trap of some sort, but what could possibly be worse than what he'd already gone through with Voldemort? The trauma served as a grim security blanket in the face of the unknown, and for once he was glad to have it. He'd already hit rock bottom before.

"Lead the way, Nott."

"Draco!" Pansy's stricken voice came from behind him as he turned to leave. She'd stood abruptly from her seat closer to the hearth.

Theo's head whipped in her direction, and Draco was able to catch the tail-end of a warning, thunderous look on his face before it disappeared behind a muted mask of diminished expression. Pansy looked stricken as she looked back and forth between Draco and Theo.

"Just... goodnight," Pansy finished lamely, averting her eyes. Draco rolled his eyes internally. _Well that confirms it. I'm walking into something bad._

He briefly caught Blaze's intrigued and confused expression, then panned back to Pansy's downturned gaze and nodded decisively, "I'll see you at breakfast, Pans."

Her beseeching gaze communicated so much, yet so little in that moment, but before Draco had a chance to do more than nod, Theo had begun his retreat through the shadowed archway. Without another look at his former sitting companions, Draco followed Theo into the darkness beyond the common room. Another Slytherin housemate followed behind the two 8th year boys, and Draco once again wondered at the scale of what he was walking into.

Draco's wand had been poised for action during his exchange in the common room just now, and he continued to hold it at the ready as Theo quietly led the way out of the Slytherin common room and into the darkened halls of Hogwarts late at night. He wondered at the fact that Theo and his lackey seemed to know exactly where they were going, even in the darkened hallways of a cloudy night.

_They've done this before. Just what am I walking into?_

Their party of three eventually arrived in the middle of a dead-end hallway on the fifth floor. Theo stepped forward to place his hand on a nondescript patch of stone wall, sliding his fingers around its craggy surface until the digits found what they'd been looking for.

As a door materialized with a few careful proddings of Theo's fingers, it began to dawn on Draco that he might be in over his head.

_This isn't just some classroom he's commandeering for the night. This also isn't the Room of Requirement. The only reason he'd let me see any of this is because he's confident I'm not going to tell anyone about it._

Before Draco could begin to think of a contingency plan, Theo had opened the now solidified wooden door and was beckoning him inside. The housemate that had accompanied them hovered ominously behind him, a subtle threat should he attempt to overrule Theo's authority.

With a firm set to his lips, Draco stepped into the room behind Theo, immediately moving to angle his body so he could keep both Nott and his lackey in his line of sight, wand held stiffly at his side.

They'd entered a spacious sitting room with an empty fireplace and only a few dim sources of light. With a flick of Theo's wand, the fireplace and lamps roared to life, while a collection of banners and pennants Draco hadn't noticed unfurled from high up on the walls. They all held the dark mark or some other variation of dark imagery. Dread crept into Draco’s stomach.

Theo gestured around at the room, “Not bad, eh Malfoy? We persuaded a few Hufflepuffs to build this room for us over the summer – not that they’d remember any of it. As it happens, a castle rebuild is the perfect time to undertake construction projects when you want them to go undetected.”

The pit of dread in Draco’s stomach blossomed until it filled every crevice of his body. The only way any Hufflepuff could have been _persuaded_ to help a bunch of Slytherins was if they'd been _coerced_. And the only way a bunch of students would have been able to construct a hidden room without attracting suspicion, which required a considerable bit of complex magic, was if they'd had outside help. He swallowed down his apprehension and maintained a cool veneer.

"I doubt we came all this way just so you could show me a few of your parlor tricks, Nott. Unless of course you use this room to play show and tell," Draco said with a sneer.

Before Theo could respond, the newly crackling fire to their left erupted in a sudden burst of green sparks and flames, drawing everyone's attention. Draco's dread and apprehension crystallized into fear when first one, then another former Death Eater stepped through the roaring flames. _Mulciber?! Selwyn?! What the fuck?!_

"Right on time," Theo smirked.

The two grizzled older wizards who were muttering and dusting themselves off in front of the hearth were wanted men.

_How the bloody hell were they able to use an unregistered Floo in Hogwarts?! And build a bloody room like this?! This shouldn’t be possible!_

Draco’s housemates seemed completely unsurprised by the shocking turn of events, but Draco was inwardly panicking. A combination of gut-churning fury and buzzing anxiety threatened to overwhelm him with tsunami-like intensity.

_That smarmy little bastard! So_ this _is what’s going on in the House of Slytherin! It’s worse than bad_ — _this is 6th year all over again._

Momentarily distracted by the newcomers, Draco only barely managed to dodge Theo's covert _Expelliarmus_ before all hell broke loose. Although Draco was an incredibly talented duelist, an ambush of four against one would have been unfair for even the most gifted of fighters. He volleyed a series of hexes at the room’s inhabitants, making a run for the door while trying to keep everyone in his line of sight.

It took less than thirty seconds before Selwyn managed to incapacitate him with a body blow hex while Theo simultaneously hit him with a well-aimed _Incercerous_. Draco fell to the ground cursing and shouting the entire time. He landed painfully on his side, his wand clattering out of his hand and rolling uselessly away from him. It was small comfort, but he reminded himself, _They haven't tried to kill me yet_ — _they must want something._

Mulciber chuckled darkly as he crouched in front of Draco's fiercely struggling form while Selwyn circled behind them. The Death Eater grabbed the ropes imprisoning the younger man to keep him from crawling away, and dragged him closer until they were eye to eye.

"Not so tough _now_ , are ye' wee Malfoy?" Mulciber taunted smugly, roughly pushing Draco onto his back with Selwyn's help.

"Go fuck yourse–" Draco's furious retort was abruptly cut off with a _Silencio_ , and his frantic movements stilled with a _Petrificus Totalus_. Mulciber placed the tip of his wand at Draco's temple and at a signal from Selwyn, who'd placed his wand at Draco's other temple, both of them simultaneously cast a strange version of the _Imperius_ curse.

Draco only had a moment to feel abject terror before a wave of honey thick pleasure spilled over him from head to toe. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as every nerve ending in his body sang with sensory overload. The overbearing pleasure crested and left a disorienting haze of bliss in its wake. His previous terror forgotten, all Draco could focus on was the humming energy coursing through his veins. He hadn't felt this good in _ages_.

Mulciber took a moment to pull out a crumpled piece of parchment to read from, causing Selwyn to roll his eyes and mutter, "Fuck's sake."

Both men finally began to speak in unison, their wands still digging into Draco's temples, "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you’ve betrayed the pure blood running through your veins, and have brought ruin upon the Malfoy name. The Sons of Salazar will not abide by such a betrayal to the Dark cause.

"We shall right your wrongs, and you shall help us do it. Tonight, you receive a second chance by the grace of our generosity. Tonight, you become one of many Sons of Salazar. You will join us in our crusade to rid magical society of the scourge of blood impurity once and for all, and you will speak of it to absolutely no one who isn't already in this room with you."

Despite the direness of the situation, Draco could barely process the rehearsed words that were being chanted from just above him, though he could feel them anchoring in his mind, slipping through his happy haze like so much oil, and settling onto his subconscious like a syrupy slick.

His unfocused gaze had wandered beyond the two Death Eaters hovering above him, and had landed on the ceiling, where the words 'Sons of Salazar' had been painted into the stone in glittering emerald blackletter typography.

Mulciber and Selwyn's next words disturbed his drunken reverie, but he couldn't remember why their words should matter to him when he felt so good, "Your first mission is to deliver us the mudblood bitch you're rooming with. Hermione Granger must pay for the damage she’s inflicted upon pureblood society. You despise her, and you want her to pay as much as we do.”

Draco’s eyes snapped back to the men hovering above him, cognitive dissonance battering at his artificial stupor ineffectually.

_That name,_ Draco thought sluggishly, _Hermione. She’s a m-mudblood. I-I hate her?_

There was a warmth there, when he thought about her, but he could feel it being chased away by the frigid and total commands being directed at him from above. He could feel old prejudices inexorably beginning to fill the cold emptiness that was left in their wake.

_I... hate her_.

The Death Eaters continued, “Tomorrow night you're to bring Hermione Granger to this room so she can get what she deserves. You'll do everything in your power to not get caught, and to avoid suspicion."

Mulciber and Selwyn muttered a few spells to ensure their strange variant of the _Imperius_ had taken, and then rose. Mulciber retreated from Draco's line of sight, while Selwyn stood next to Draco's head. The paralysis and silencing spells were lifted, and the ropes restraining him dissolved. Draco sagged into the floor as all the fight and tension left his body, a low groan building in his chest.

Selwyn spoke with malicious glee, "You're not getting off that easy, Malfoy. We have to make sure the spell took, after all. Have to make sure you'll do things the old Draco Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead doing.”

He paused for dramatic effect, “I want you to kneel in front of me and lick the dirt off my boots. Can you do that, little Malfoy, hmm? Can you show me you're not so tough after all?"

Immediately, Draco was filled with the compulsion to obey the man who was hovering above him, leering with ill intent and smug satisfaction. He was too far gone to feel embarrassed, humiliated, or any of the number of other emotions the room's inhabitants would have relished from him in that moment.

Instead, he hurriedly rolled onto his stomach and staggered to his knees. He used unsteady arms to support his upper body and crawled closer, wanting to obey this man more than anything else in the world.

His face was only inches away from Selwyn's left boot with his tongue extended to obey when the boot quickly rose to meet his face with a sickening crunch. Draco recoiled instantly as a world of pain blossomed from his nose to radiate throughout his head and neck. He could taste the blood dripping steadily from his nose down into the corners of his mouth.

"Well Malfoy? I'm waiting," Selwyn taunted, breaking through Draco's haze of pain. Confused, Draco shook himself out of his stupor and began to crawl slowly back towards Selwyn's grinning form. He could hear Theo and his Slytherin companion cackling as if from very far away, but was too focused on the task at hand to wonder what they were laughing at.

When Draco reached Selwyn once again, he began to clumsily lean towards the man's boot for a second time, fervent in his irrational compulsion to obey the wizard’s command. This time Selwyn’s boot caught Draco below the chin. It sent him sprawling backwards with tears streaming down his face, desperately trying not to choke on the combination of blood and tears that were beginning to make it hard to breathe.

Draco was on the razor’s edge of pleasure and pain, confusion and an immense desire to please warring for dominance in the back of his mind, while honey thick languor dripped complacently at the forefront of his mind.

“Get back here,” growled Selwyn, but Draco struggled to obey.

“I said get back here you pathetic excuse for a wizard!” Selwyn roared angrily when Draco took too long to comply.

Slowly, painfully, Draco crawled his way back to Selwyn, the compulsion to obey so strong, it overrode even his body’s protests. At length, he made his third attempt of the night to obey the command he’d been given. This time, his tongue actually made contact with the weathered leather of Selwyn’s boot before it rose to catch him in the chest, sending the younger man sprawling once again.

“That’ll teach you to betray the dark cause, you worthless welp,” Selwyn muttered with satisfaction, clearly finished with his work. With that, he stalked off outside of Draco’s line of vision.

Draco lay there for a few moments, trying to make sense of why he felt like he was swimming in a wonderful dream despite the tears streaming down his face, and the pain coursing through his extremities. After a few moments, Theo's gleeful face appeared above him.

"It's better this way, mate. You were a lost cause otherwise," he said glibly as he grabbed Draco by the shoulders and hoisted him into a sitting position. "I'm just glad that modified _Imperio_ didn't turn your brain to mush—would've been a waste."

Dazed, Draco accepted Theo's hand up and stumbled over to the set of chairs where the rest of the room's inhabitants had begun to greet each other and make themselves comfortable. He felt drugged—incapable of stringing together two words, much less full sentences at the moment.

Some minuscule, remote voice in the corner of his mind was screaming with about as much effect as that of a mildly annoying gnat, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to pay attention to it.

The two Death Eaters were conversing amiably with the younger Slytherin who had accompanied him and Theo to the room what felt like an indeterminate amount of time ago. They looked up, and Selwyn clapped his hands and cleared his throat once Draco and Theo seated themselves in adjacent love seats.

Selwyn met the eyes of each person in the room before speaking solemnly, “We met tonight as representatives of a society of wizards united in a noble cause. We swear to carry the mantle of noble pureblood values our Death Eater brethren carried before us. In Voldemort’s name, the Sons of Salazar will rise!”

As one, all of the room’s inhabitants except Draco raised their wands and called out, “ _Tenebris manet!_ ”

Glowing green jets of light erupted from their wands and struck the glittering letters on the ceiling, causing the words to glow intensely before erupting outward. With a spectacular shower of green sparks and dazzling light, followed by a thick, choking black mist that extinguished everything in its wake, the room’s decorations disappeared in the blink of an eye. The only light left in the remaining darkness was the roaring hearth still illuminating Selwyn’s silhouette, and that soon extinguished too.

* * *

Later that night, as Draco stumbled tiredly back to his dormitory, he contemplated how he would go about completing his mission. He found it difficult to focus when his face was in so much agony while the rest of his body felt so blissful, but the compulsion to obey was so intense even now that it was all he could think about.

The Heads’ quarters were dark and silent when he arrived, which was just as well. It wouldn’t do for Granger to see him like this, bloody and injured. He needed more time to prepare a mask of collegiality convincing enough to mirror the feelings for her that Selwyn had nipped in the bud. If he wanted to evade suspicion, he couldn’t let his renewed hatred for Granger show, couldn't have her asking questions. Not yet, anyway.

He staggered into his room and slammed the door shut behind him, murmuring a _Muffliato_ in his wake. He made a beeline for his bathroom and lit a few lamps along the way, coming to a stop in front of the bathroom mirror. He was transfixed with the bleeding mess staring back at him.

He definitely had a broken nose, his lip was cut in two places, and his left eye had nearly swollen shut. He gingerly moved his jaw around, wincing at how much even those small movements hurt, but relieved nothing seemed to be badly broken. His mussed platinum blonde hair hung limply in his eyes, stained with his blood, and heavy with his tears. Amidst the wreckage, his gaze remained empty and distant.

With shaking hands, Draco unbuttoned his ruined shirt to reveal the pale expanse of his chest. A red welt near his sternum had begun to bruise, aching with every breath he took. Despite the visible damage and pulsing pain, the only things he could focus on were pleasure continuously coursing through his veins like a drug, and anticipation at finally making Granger pay for being born. Nothing else mattered now.

Grimly, he peeled off his shirt and discarded it carelessly. Next, he cast a series of diagnostic spells on himself to evaluate the extent of the damage the older wizards had wrought upon his body. Draco was clinical in his assessment, noting that his nose was indeed broken, that his left cheekbone had hairline fractures in two places, that his jaw had another hairline fracture, and that his sternum and ribs were bruised.

Despite his uncontrollable shaking, he healed his broken bones with efficient and dispassionate movements. With every healed injury, a fountain of bliss welled up in its place, so that by the time Draco had healed the last of the small fractures, he felt increasingly overcome by euphoria.

Still trembling, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and staggered into the shower. The moment he felt the scalding water touch his skin, he let out a guttural groan and leaned a hand against the cold bathroom tile, giving himself a moment to relish the sensation of water soaking him through.

He watched as the water ran pink with his blood for a few seconds before turning clear. The visual metaphor steered him back to the mission at hand, and sent a thrill racing up his spine.

_You're mine, Granger_.

He felt himself harden at the thought, his renewed hatred for her only fueling his ardor.

_You're going to get_ _washed away like so much bloody bathwater, just like your dead friends, and magical society will be that much purer for it ._

The thought only made him grow harder, until his erection was straining angrily for his attention. With his free hand, Draco used a quivering thumb to rub his precum around the head of his shaft. His eyes rolled backwards at the the sensations his touch caused, his clenched jaw only partially suppressing his ragged moan.

As the scalding water cascaded around him, head bowed with one hand still supporting his weight against the shower wall, Draco stroked himself to the thought of Granger writhing beneath him.

In his fantasy it no longer mattered whether she was his prisoner or with him willingly, all that mattered was that she was there, his to do with as he pleased. His hatred had morphed into an annealed, confused mass of passion, ardor, hatred, and repressed affection – and the combination only further fueled his swirling desire.

Now he imagined it was _her_ hand aggressively gliding along his shaft and bringing him to an explosive completion, wished it was _her_ delicate fingers collecting his cream to lap up like a prize. How he wished to see her heated gaze connecting with his while her tongue did its work. How he wished to caress her skin and grab her hair, controlling her movements.

He panted in the aftermath of his orgasm, lost for a moment in the last wisps of his fantasy as they caressed the deepest confines of his mind before dissipating. All that was left in their wake was an obsessive, warped determination to make her pay.

_I'm coming for you, Granger._


	5. Chapter 5

_I should drink more often,_ Hermione mused groggily, only half-joking as she roused from one of the best nights of sleep she'd had in a very long time.

For the first time in months, the anxiety that had haunted her like a specter during every moment of the day had dissipated into the background of her mind. And all it had taken was a few drinks with her housemates the night before. She knew the reprieve wouldn't last, but it was a relief that she still knew how to have fun.

As awkward as she'd felt attending Gryffindor's back to school party, she'd promised Ginny she would show up ready to have a good time. And even without her promise to Ginny, she would have forced herself to show up on principle.

Hermione knew self-isolation wasn't the answer to her troubles, much as it tempted her. Everyone who'd returned to school this year was struggling in their own way with the aftermath of a war that had taken up a good portion of their lives. Some just hid it better than others, but she didn't want to become one of them.

Stretching languidly beneath the covers, Hermione checked the time and considered what her plans were for the day. It was already 9 in the morning, but she still had a few hours to go before she needed to be presentable. Last night, she and a few of the other upperclassmen had decided they would grab brunch together at the Three Broomsticks today instead of eating breakfast in the Great Hall.

Now that the school's Hogsmeade restrictions had been loosened for 7th and 8th years, they were itching to take advantage of their visiting privileges. Hermione couldn't blame them. In the past week she'd had more flashbacks from the war than she could count on both hands.

She'd known it would be one of the potential side effects of returning to campus so soon after she'd fought there, but knowing so still hadn't prepared her for the visceral impact of her vivid recollections. It had become easier to handle throughout her first week back, but Hermione would have been lying if she said she wasn't ready to get out of the castle for a breath of fresh air, too.

In the meantime, there was homework to be done, and personal projects to work on. Hermione was looking forward to losing herself in the flow of productive work. It may only have been her first week back at Hogwarts, but her professors had certainly not held back. Hermione grinned, thinking of the grousing Harry and Ron would be doing right about now had they chosen to return to Hogwarts with her.

She spent the next two hours holed up in her room wearing her pajamas, finishing up an essay for Arithmancy, and doing some research for upcoming Transfiguration and Potions assignments. She considered writing to Harry and Ron, but decided to wait until after she'd returned from brunch. Once she was done with her schoolwork, she took a quick shower and dressed in warm pair of leggings and an oversized, knit jumper.

She tried not to look too closely at herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed and plaited her hair into two braids, which she then wrapped and pinned over her head like a headband. She didn't quite recognize the gaunt face staring back at her, and didn't want to acknowledge the wisdom, loss and sadness reflected in her dark gaze. Sometimes it felt harder to look herself in the eyes than it did to look at the scars on her arm and chest.

When Hermione finally ventured out of her bedroom, she was met with an empty common room, which was just as well. Briefly, she wondered how Malfoy's night had gone, then decided she had no business wondering anything about Draco Malfoy if it wasn't in a purely professional context.

_You sure weren't thinking professionally yesterday when you were admiring his assets_ , she reminded herself.

_He really does have nice hands, though. And nice forearms. And those biceps... oh tosh! Enough is enough!_

Shaking herself out of such a scandalous train of thought, she fed Crookshanks and changed his water, then made her way down to the school's entrance. She encountered few people on the way, and found her mind being drawn back to Malfoy the whole way there.

Hermione still found it hard to believe that he could have changed so much in such a short amount of time, but his behavior in the past week had been remarkably consistent so far. Only time would tell, she supposed. She hoped it lasted—she much preferred this improved version of him.

She didn't want to admit it, but some small part of her had begun to want to trust him. That was taking it a little too far, though. It would take a lot longer before Hermione Jean Granger could ever start to trust the likes of Draco Malfoy and his ilk. There was simply too much history between them.

Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Dean were waiting for her when she arrived at the school gates. They walked contentedly down the unkempt path to Hogsmeade, and proceeded to spend the next few hours stuffing themselves full of breakfast food and Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.

Of course, one of the first things her friends wanted to know once they'd settled at a table was what it was like to live with Malfoy. She was happy to be able to report that he'd been a downright gentleman thus far, despite the incredulity of her companions.

"You mean to tell me that Malfoy hasn't so much as insulted you since school started?" Dean asked disbelievingly, "Not even _once_?"

"I find it hard to believe myself," Hermione conceded, "But it's true."

"Good for him," Luna said with a tilt of her head as she licked a spot of syrup from her finger, "Everyone deserves a second chance."

Whether he realized it or not, Neville was staring at Luna with a thinly veiled look of dreamy adoration, and Hermione struggled to contain her giggle. Last night and today had done more to restore her sense of normalcy than all the soul searching she'd agonized over during the weeks before school had started. She was happy to see the beginnings of such affection growing amongst her friends, and was happy to be present enough in the moment to notice it.

_It's good to be back,_ she thought while taking a sip of her drink. Hermione wanted to protect this bubble of contentment, to cup it close to her chest and preserve its fragile contents before the harsh realities of the world could intrude and ruin what it held.

After their meal, the group of friends wandered around Hogsmeade and picked up a few school supplies and snacks to take back with them. On the walk up to the castle, Hermione and Ginny hung back from the rest of the group, engaged in more personal topics of conversation.

"You seem to be in good spirits today. I'm glad last night's shindig wasn't too much," Ginny said as they walked side by side.

"I was worried it would be," Hermione admitted sheepishly, "But turns out it was just what I needed. Same with brunch today. They were both wonderful ideas, Gin. Thank you."

Ginny beamed at her, "Of course! Someone's gotta make sure we all let loose and have a good time this year! It's hard work but I'm glad to do it," she finished cheekily.

Hermione chuckled, thankful for their friendship and glad they would have more of an opportunity to strengthen it this year. She was proud of the strength Ginny had shown since the last battle, and she suspected it was her unique way of grieving for Fred. The group of friends parted ways in front of the Great Hall, bidding each other a good afternoon and promising to see each other later that evening at dinner.

The Heads' common room was still empty and undisturbed when Hermione returned mid-afternoon. She took a seat at one of the desks by the fireplace, summoned her writing supplies and spent the next half hour writing to Harry and Ron about her first week back at school. She tried to include as many details as possible because she knew they'd complain if she glossed over anything—they were nosy like that.

When she was done writing, she took the long way up to the Owlery, finding that she was in no particular hurry to accomplish the rest of her tasks for the day. Brunch had left her feeling too satiated to rush on such a relaxing and mellow Saturday evening.

On her way back to her dormitory after mailing both letters, she admired the beautiful, dusky landscape surrounding the castle—something she hadn't taken the time to notice in over a year.

_Has it been that long since I was able to really see beauty in the world?_ she wondered sadly to herself.

This time when Hermione returned to the Heads' common room, a fire was roaring in the hearth and there were other clear signs of human activity, although Malfoy was still nowhere to be found. Shrugging, she slipped off her shoes, and decided to work on her latest personal project—learning the art of wandless magic.

Hermione had been practicing wandless magic on and off throughout the past few weeks, both because she was immensely intrigued by it, but also because she needed something to take her mind off things. It was extremely difficult work, and often left her feeling exhausted if she overdid it, but it was one of the most gratifying pursuits she'd taken on in recent memory. And best of all—it consumed all of her attention and concentration while she was doing it.

She grabbed a small trinket she'd been using for practice lately, and sat crosslegged on the rug in front of the fire to warm up. After setting the small ivory figurine of a griffin onto the floor in front of her, she settled into a comfortable position with her back against the foot of the couch. She reached up to begin unpinning and unbraiding her hair, all while staring at the figurine with an intense look of concentration and determination.

Quite frankly, the trinket sitting before her had been a huge pain in her ass as of late. She'd started with wandless magic a few months ago by learning how to move and then levitate a small leaf. From there she'd worked her way up to a feather, then a sheet of parchment, then a key, then a piece of candy, and then any combination of those objects. Now she was stuck on this stupid trinket. No matter how hard she'd tried over the summer, it would do little more than budge, but otherwise it remained stubbornly still.

She suspected it had to do with the material of the object or its irregular shape, as some of her admittedly spotty research had revealed. Frowning, Hermione concentrated on it, reaching out with her mind and her magic to greet the inert and stolid creature carved delicately in white.

For a few minutes, there was no movement in the common room besides the dancing and crackling of the fire as Hermione stared intently at the object with total concentration, all the while whispering _Wingardium Leviosa_ every few seconds under her breath.

After what seemed like no time, the griffin began to tremble before lifting gently a foot into the air. Delighted, Hermione let out a whoop, which broke her concentration and caused the figurine to topple back to the carpet. Undeterred, Hermione grinned and used her wand to right the griffin before attempting to replicate her feat. This was her first time practicing wandless magic at Hogwarts, and she wondered at how much easier it felt to do it within the confines of the castle walls.

She lost track of the next two hours in that way, not giving herself a break in between each successful attempt, forcing herself to hold the figurine in the air for longer and longer periods of time, until she could make it zip around in front of her like a marionette.

By that time she was so tired that it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She hadn't planned to tax herself quite this much, and had let herself get carried away with the excitement of finally mastering her hardest wandless hurdle yet.

With the hint of a genuine smile peeking from the corner of her mouth, Hermione's head drifted to the side to rest on the sofa as she fell into an exhausted slumber, all while cradling the white figure in her small hand. _I'll just close my eyes for a moment._

* * *

Hermione woke to the wonderful feeling of fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp. She was so out of it that for the first few moments she thought it might be part of a dream, but as the glorious sensations continued to drag her further and further into the realm of consciousness, a slow sense of confusion and alarm began to dawn on her.

_Mum?_ Her mum was the only person who'd ever played with her hair like this, but she was—

Like a bolt of lightning, reality came crashing down on Hermione all at once. Her eyes snapped open and her body tensed as the disorientation from her exhaustion and awakening were chased into panic and instant awareness.

_Who the bloody hell is playing with my hair?!_

Without looking, she quickly reached for the last place she'd left her wand on the floor next to her, but she was immediately stopped short when the hand in her hair tightened so painfully it caused tears to collect at the corners of her eyes.

"Don't ruin the moment, Granger. I was having so much fun," Malfoy drawled from behind her, his large hand roughly jerking her head to lay back on the cushion in its original position despite her struggling. Although she couldn't see him, she could tell that he was lounging on the couch she was leaning against, using just the one hand to casually control her movements.

"Wha—Malfoy?! Let go!" Hermione demanded shrilly, still scrambling to reach for her wand, but it wasn't there. She was at Malfoy's mercy, and she hated it.

Confusion and betrayal were swirling up within her, mixing with her panicked desperation to create an unproductive and distracting cocktail of emotions. Adrenaline had begun pumping through her veins, helping to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her mind. She prepared to swing an elbow behind her despite the pain in her scalp and awkward positioning of her neck in the hopes of catching him unawares.

"Hmm, I don't think I will," he responded with condescension and smug satisfaction, "In fact, now that I know you're awake, I'll do you one better."

He quickly cast an _Immobulus_ and a _Silencio_ on her vulnerable form, then relaxed back into the couch with his long fingers still tangled in her messy curls, stroking them absentmindedly. Hermione knew nothing good would come of this.

_What's his endgame?!_

"As you may have noticed, I _want_ to hear myself talk right now, Granger. And I want _you_ to listen for once," Malfoy continued casually as his hand resumed gently playing with her hair, suddenly as relaxed as if they were two friends having a conversation in the hallway between classes.

"You see, I've had a change of heart. I'd originally wanted to do this nice and slow—I would have buttered you up and gained your trust to get you on my side. You're a good ally to have, you know, despite your deplorable blood status. But circumstances have changed, and we don't quite have time for that anymore, love. I'm afraid your options have narrowed down to just the one, now."

His hand tightened painfully in her hair once more. Tears of frustration had begun to trail down Hermione's frozen face as she fully registered the dire position she was in. Malfoy was clearly unhinged, and right now he had the advantage. Had this been his plan all along? Where could this possibly lead?

She scrambled to concentrate on a way out of this mess before it escalated any further, but was drawing a blank given her state of paralysis. Even wandless magic was useless right now if she couldn't vocalize the spells—she wasn't _that_ good yet.

Her breath caught in her throat when he continued speaking, this time so close behind her she could feel his warm breath on her skin as he murmured softly into her ear, "Unlike the last time you were captured, this time the only thing you'll need to give us is proof of your pain, mudblood."

Upon hearing his words, Hermione's blood ran cold. It was perhaps an inconsequential thing to notice at a time like this, but this was the first time he'd called her that since before the war had ended. Perhaps more importantly, the clinical part of her mind noticed Malfoy had said _"us,"_ which didn't bode well for her at all. Whatever was going on, it was larger than the two of them.

_You deceitful git,_ she exploded inwardly. _What have you done now you_ _conniving little sna–_

Draco's other hand entered her line of vision, and his thumb landed on her frozen lips, her furious eyes sweeping down to focus on the gesture. The single digit began sweeping back and forth along her bottom lip, smearing the tears that had landed there while his left hand disappeared from her scalp. She couldn't see the expression on his face, but the tone of his next words shifted.

"All in due time, of course," he murmured softly from behind her, " _Stupefy_."

Instantly, Hermione's world went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains explicit depictions of torture. If that type of content potentially bothers you, then I recommend you read the sanitized version or skip this chapter altogether. Feel free to reach out to me for a sanitized chapter, or visit my website at c0nfiguration [dot] space to find the sanitized version of the chapter on my website. Also, thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed and/or subscribed to this story!

Reality came rushing back to Hermione in a disorienting melange of unfamiliar sensations and impressions. Her head ached down to the roots of her hair, and she was sprawled out on the floor of a room she didn't recognize. She could hear the sound of jeers and derisive voices coming from nearby, causing a nauseating sense of apprehension to creep up her spine.

She scrambled to push herself up from the ground, but a boot on the small of her back pushed her back down, forcing her to remain prone on her stomach.

"Well if it isn't our favorite little mudblood," spat a gruff and unfamiliar voice from directly above her. A few chuckles and murmurs of sinister greeting followed his words. She couldn't tell how many people were in the room with her, and the uncertainty caused a sickening pit of anxiety to crystallize in her stomach.

_N-no! Nonono this can’t be happening!_

Hermione let out a panicked scream and began struggling fiercely to get out from under her captor, but her previous exhaustion and comparatively smaller frame meant her efforts were in vain. The boot ground further into her back the more she struggled, until she was left gasping in a combination of pain and breathlessness.

"I’ve been waiting a long time to have you just like this,” the voice continued gleefully, “Right beneath my foot, where you belong.”

The more she struggled, the harder he ground into her back, until she could feel her ribs creaking and her lungs aching. Realizing she was only making things worse for herself, Hermione stilled. Her mind was racing as she sought to catalogue the room’s exits and inhabitants while the vile man above her spoke.

She knew that nothing she could say would help her in this situation, so she chose to remain silent and catch her breath.

“That’s right, you dirty mudblood bitch. The Sons of Salazar are going to make sure you learn your place,” the gravelly voice growled, “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”

_Consequences be damned!_ Despite her resolution to remain silent, anger and frustration boiled indignantly in Hermione’s veins. _It's useless to beg._ Knowing she was doomed whether she spoke or not, she gasped for breath and ground out, “Eat shite you degenerate p–“

In an instant the boot pushing her down disappeared, only to catch her in the abdomen with a swift kick. She cried out in pain and curled into herself as the boot returned again and again to brutally punish her midsection.

Her captor chuckled under his breath, crouching low next to her, "You’d do well to shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you, lass. The only thing I want to hear coming out of those pink little lips are your screams."

His companions laughed and taunted her as they circled ominously in the periphery, seeming to close in on her. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, and Hermione was struggling to maintain a rational train of thought. _One door. One fireplace. N-no windows. Th–three or four people minimum._

Her eyes darted beyond the predatory figures circling her, and landed on the fireplace in the background. In a split second, her frightened gaze noted a few environmental details in disjointed chunks—roaring flames, the familiar Hogwarts stone beneath her, and remnants of glittering green Floo powder smeared on the far end of a rug.

Before she had a chance to process any of those details, the man crouching next to her reached out to caress her tearful cheek with the end of his wand. He dragged it lazily past her jaw and down her neck until it was resting above her heart. There, he jabbed the thin piece of wood roughly into the skin of her heaving chest and growled.

" _Crucio._ "

Hermione's world exploded in a world of all-consuming agony she'd hoped to never revisit again in her life. As her body contorted and buckled with the immense shock of pain, her shrill scream cut through the muted atmosphere of the room, and all rational thought fled her mind.

_Too much! It’s too much! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!!!_

There was no room left in her anymore to plot escape, nor to be angry. There was only room to survive, to somehow remain afloat amidst the searing waves of fire licking through her insides. Reality narrowed down to the careening rollercoaster of punishing sensations coursing through every nerve of her writhing body.

After an indeterminable amount of time the curse was lifted. Although her anguished screams died out, the echos of its wrath continued to radiate throughout her twitching limbs. Distantly, Hermione could hear her tormentors cheering at her suffering, goading and taunting her as she lay helplessly before them.

“Brightest witch of her age, they said. Fat lot of good it did you," her captor crowed with a smirk of triumph.

A large hand slithered into her hair and yanked her head up, rotating it awkwardly to force her bloodshot gaze to meet that of the man who'd been speaking the entire time. She didn't recognize his grizzled face, but she recognized the bigotry and hatred simmering angrily in his eyes. She would bet everything that this man had been—was still a Death Eater. A quick glance at the visible portion of his forearm confirmed it.

"Take a good look at the men who are going to make you pay for your crimes against purebloods, once and for all," the wizard said with insidious satisfaction.

Hermione's tearful gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing as the full scope of what lay ahead became clear. With his hand still tangled painfully in her hair, her captor painfully jerked her head around to meet each of the leering, hateful gazes of the room's other inhabitants. She didn't recognize the other older man circling her hungrily, and although she'd been expecting Malfoy, she was surprised to see Theodore Nott there too.

Hermione quickly worked to compartmentalize her fear, self-pity, and pride, shoving them deep in her mind using _Occlusion_ so she could put as much distance between herself and those distractions as she could. Past experience had shown her that these emotions would only get in the way right now.

_Just make it through this._

Her head was thrown to the ground violently, causing her skull to bounce against the cold stone with a sickening thud. Apparently finished with tormenting her for the moment, her captor heaved himself up and called out.

"Mulciber?"

The other older man, presumably Mulciber, leered at Hermione but deferred, "You know I like my slags well and broken, Selwyn. Save the best for last."

Selwyn shrugged and gestured at Malfoy, "Looks like it's your lucky day, boy. Why don't you show our guest a proper welcome?"

"With pleasure," Malfoy responded darkly as he strode towards Hermione's trembling form with his wand pointed at her throat. Even the sting of betrayal felt distant to her in that moment. It was all she could do to breathe past the residual pain radiating throughout her body.

" _Exanimo,"_ he hissed, coming to a stop at her feet.

At first, Hermione felt nothing. It gave her a moment to realize she didn't recognize the malicious hatred seething in Malfoy's gaze. For all his past antagonizing, she'd never seen him with such a murderous glint in his eye. She wondered if he'd just been that good at hiding it this whole time.

_You despicable snake._

Her train of thought was quickly dashed as she began to gasp for air. Slowly—ever so slowly, she was beginning to lose her ability to breathe—the bastard intended to suffocate her! Despite understanding the importance of remaining calm so as not to exacerbate the spell, Hermione felt herself begin to spiral deeper into panic as the seconds dragged on. She thrashed on the ground, grasping at her throat helplessly, no longer able to make intelligible sounds, emitting only weak gargles and gasps.

Malfoy smirked down at her with his head cocked to the side in amusement, twirling his wand absentmindedly as he watched her struggle. At length, he lifted the curse and began to slowly pace around her as she fought to regain her breath with ragged gulps of air.

He casually flicked his wand and cast _Exanimo_ again, this time immediately following it with another curse that caused her skin to erupt with the sensation of hundreds of invisible crawling, biting bugs. Her whimpers died out into garbled and choked gasps as she began to run out of air again, but her writhing only grew more desperate.

"It's all about the mindfuck, isn't it Granger?"

He continued to circle her, taunting her in a droll voice, "All it takes is a few well-placed curses, and your mind does the rest of the dirty work for me."

Hermione was too far gone to pay attention to his words. She was desperately scratching and gouging at her now bloody skin, frantically trying to rid herself of the bugs that were wreaking havoc on her sanity. Yet the harder she struggled, the quicker she ran out of breath.

By the time Malfoy lifted both curses, Hermione was writhing on the ground, hysterical from a lack of air and an overabundance of panic. Her vision had progressively darkened around the edges, and the part of her mind capable of rational thought had gone completely silent.

A disorienting flash of light erupted from beside them, and Hermione distantly realized she and Malfoy had been photographed. The sound of raucous laughter filtered into her awareness in chaotic shards of brief clarity, but she was too distracted by the memory of hundreds of tiny insect legs and pincers digging into her skin to care.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Malfoy," Nott drawled, coming to stand next to him with a self-satisfied smirk, "You've done Slytherin proud. For once. I'm not nearly as imaginative, but no matter."

Nott casually pulled out his wand and pointed it at Hermione's curled form.

" _Crucio_."

For the second time that night, Hermione's world exploded in the type of agony only the _Cruciatus_ seemed capable of inflicting. The nauseating memory of crawling bugs was chased away by the all-consuming anguish of flames racing through her veins again, and Hermione lost herself to it completely as her back bowed from the pain.

The overwhelming deluge seemed to last for an eternity. She could feel her mind being pushed to the brink, and it was all she could do to hold on while she screamed herself hoarse.

Although she couldn't tell how much time had passed, she was sure that she'd endured the _Cruciatus_ tonight for longer than she had at Bellatrix's hands. This agony seemed never-ending, all-consuming, and inescapable. All Hermione wanted to do was retreat further and further into her mind where she could lessen the psychological trauma she was experiencing.

She tried to imagine she was anywhere else in time and space, far away from this horrific moment and the wretched idiots who had wrought it. She pictured herself flying through an open desert at dusk, effortlessly slicing through the pinkish landscape under the twilight sky until everything was a blur. It wasn't enough, but it was something to hold on to.

"I've always wanted to do that," Nott smirked with satisfaction when he lifted the curse, "Now don't you go anywhere, Granger."

He pointed his wand at her legs and broke both of them with a loud crack, drawing anguished keening from the disheveled witch. This in turn invited a louder round of laughter from the room's inhabitants. She remained motionless on the floor, too weak to do more than blink sluggishly at the sight of Malfoy and Nott retreating to stand by the fire with their companions. She had no idea how long it had been since she'd been kidnapped, nor how long it had been since she'd woken up in this hellish situation, but her adrenaline was quickly fading and leaving a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.

_C-conserve energy. Think of a plan. Fo-focus._

Dimly, she watched with half-lidded eyes as Nott and Malfoy made their way over to their companions, who were drinking and celebrating by the fire. It was small comfort, but definitively knowing how many people were in the room with her made her feel minutely better about her chances of eventually escaping, even if escape seemed like a pipe dream given her current state*.*

_One door. One fireplace. No windows. F-four against one._ She had to focus damnit! She was too dazed to even contemplate moving, but she knew she had to think of _something_.

Suddenly Nott turned to Malfoy with his wand drawn, and restrained him with a deft _Incarcerous._

"Piss off Nott!" Malfoy spat angrily as he struggled to free himself, "What do you think you're doing?!"

Nott shrugged and drawled, "I'm doing what you couldn't, Malfoy. Avenging the pureblood cause."

As Malfoy continued to shout, the two older wizards stepped up to flank Nott wearing sinister grins. They pointed their wands at Malfoy and simultaneously hissed, " _Finite Incantatem._ "

Although the group was standing a few meters away, Hermione noticed an immediate change come over Malfoy. He stumbled backwards, losing his balance because of his restraints, and landed on the floor.

"W-what?!" she heard him whimper in alarm.

Malfoy's body language had changed completely, as had the expression on what she could see of his face. He looked absolutely terrified and panicked, much like she had felt upon waking in this room. He also looked far more confused than she had, though. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she watched the events unfold from her position.

_What's going on?_

In a split-second, his bewildered expression transformed into one of pain. He stumbled backwards as if he'd been physically struck and proceeded to fall prostrate dangeorusly close to the fire while screaming.

His pale profile was cast in silhouette against the dancing flames, and some remote part of her noted his aristocratic features cast against the firelight as he reeled in pain. She was too exhausted to feel alarmed by these musings. No matter how scandalous, her thoughts helped distract her from the pain still coursing through her own body. Her hooded gaze remained locked on his contorted form as a sickening crack portended a gush of blood from his now broken nose.

"Every ache. Every pain. Every pathetic emotion. Everything our modified _Imperius_ has suppressed in the past 24 hours—you're feeling it again, Malfoy—all at once, and much worse," Selwyn taunted, guffawing loudly as he belittled the younger man's suffering, "It's the beauty of illicit magical experimentation!"

_Malfoy was under the Imperius when he kidnapped me?_

A modified Imperius, to be more specific, but what did that even mean? Hermione had never before heard of successful modifications to the _Imperius,_ nor of modifications to _any_ of the Unforgivables. This was perhaps because it involved such incredibly dark magic, not to mention an immense amount of power.

"It's a shame we didn't give you a harder time last night," Selwyn remarked lightly, "I suppose we'll have to remedy that now that you've fulfilled your purpose for the time being."

He cast the _Cruciatus,_ his cruel smirk widening into a sickening grin when Malfoy began convulsing and screaming even more loudly.

"Sing for me, son," Selwyn drawled as he and Mulciber hovered over Malfoy's writhing form.

Nott had retreated to a nearby armchair to sip at the drink he'd poured himself. He looked bored and self-satisfied. No one paid Hermione's limp form any mind as she lay silently on the ground a few meters away.

She found it difficult to tune out Draco's anguished screams, but she hardened her heart and strove to push away the sound for the time being. _Imperius_ or no, he had kidnapped and tortured her. She needed to focus on getting out of this situation before she could even begin to contemplate how she would handle him.

But where to start? Her only option for escape seemed to be the door, and it was too far to drag herself towards without attracting attention. If she was indeed still within the walls of Hogwarts, apparation would also be out of the question, even if she'd had her wand. But that begged the question—if they were still at Hogwarts, then how had these two Death Eaters remained undetected?

Given the wards and protective spells she had _personally_ helped McGonagall cast during the summer, they shouldn't have been able to set foot in the castle without multiple people on the staff knowing about it immediately. So either she wasn't still at Hogwarts, or she was missing something.

As she watched Malfoy's torture unfold with glazed, horrified eyes, something in his mussed hair caught her eye. _There._ So she wasn't imagining it. In fact, she'd noticed it earlier too. _Floo powder._ Strands of his platinum blond hair were stained with small patches of glittering green floo powder residue, no doubt because he'd fallen in front of the hearth. Why did that seem so odd?

She was momentarily distracted by another flash of light, and realized it was Mulciber taking photos again. He'd photographed Draco seizing on the floor. It was sickening to behold such trivialization of human suffering, such dehumanization.

Hermione only realized Selwyn had lifted the curse when Malfoy's screams stopped abruptly. He had fallen on his side facing her with his eyes and jaw clenched shut. His face was a bloody mess. It was only from this position on the floor that he finally noticed Hermione in the room with him once his eyes blinked open.

His eyes grew round at the sight of her, and he weakly attempted to sit up.

"Wha–Granger?!" he muttered, bewilderment and concern apparent in his voice, "Get out of here! _Run!!!_ "

The sincerity of his reaction was making it harder and harder for Hermione to believe he'd willingly taken part in any of what had transpired tonight. It made her feel marginally better, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on it lest it distract her.

"Ah, so you've noticed our guest of honor, have you," Selwyn said, "Who do you think put her in this state, hmm?"

Malfoy shook his head in denial as the implication in Selwyn's words began to dawn on him, "There's no way I would have done any of this to her! You lying ar–"

"You sure about that, Malfoy? Cause only one person in this room hasn't had a go at her, and it sure as hell isn't you," Nott interjected with dry amusement from his armchair off to the side.

Malfoy continued to sputter and shake his head frantically, horror and remorse beginning to bleed into his wide gray eyes as he continued to hold her tired gaze.

"Granger, you have to believe me, there's no way I would have–"

Selwyn cast a _Silencio_ with a bored flick of his wand, and Malfoy's protestations fell silent.

"Much as I would like to spend all night punishing your insolence, you're not the reason we're here tonight. What's more, you could still be of use to me. It's the only reason you're getting off easy—not that you'll remember any of it."

With a hissed _Obliviate_ followed almost immediately by a _Stupefy_ , Draco was knocked unconscious, presumably with no memory of what had just happened.

Selwyn gestured to Nott, "Get him out of my sight. I don't care if he makes it back to his room as long as he doesn't attract suspicion until tomorrow. I'll be in touch."

Nott nodded and heaved himself onto his feet, ambling over to Draco's still form and levitating him. Without another word, he strode out of the room with Draco's unconscious body floating behind him. Hermione tried to see what was on the other side of the door but it was too dark to tell.

Meanwhile Selwyn prowled closer to her. Her breathing sped up as he neared, until she was nearly hyperventilating by the time he reached her.

"Do you know why we've allowed your foul gaze to witness any of this, mudblood?" Selwyn queried with a sneer.

"It's because you won't be alive for much longer to tell anyone about it," he bit out with cruel satisfaction, "But we're going to have some fun with you first, isn't that right Mulciber?"

In the midst of her renewed panic, a stroke of insight momentarily distracted her from Selwyn's threat, so much so that she tuned out Mulciber's response. As Hermione ran through the frantic surveillance she'd attempted since she'd woken up, one detail suddenly leapt out at her. _Floo powder._

If she was still at Hogwarts, then why was there Floo powder residue on the ground? Why was there any Floo powder at all? In her 7 years at Hogwarts she'd never seen it anywhere else on campus, save perhaps Dumbledore's office, because none of the other fireplaces were connected to the Floo network.

Either she _was_ still in the castle, in which case its Floo restrictions had potentially been bypassed—something that would have seemed unthinkable before 6th year. _Or_ she must not be in the castle anymore, in which case she no longer had to worry about the school's Floo travel restrictions.

In either case, her chances of successfuly escaping by Floo seemed far higher than her chances of successfully facing whatever might lay beyond the room's lone door. Even if she _was_ still at Hogwarts, escaping through it only meant that her captors would be able to chase her in the castle's empty hallways, depending on what time of day it was.

Apparation was also out of the question—she was too weak, and the risk of splicing too great, even if it had been possible. No, her safest bet was to attempt to Floo to a public fireplace where it might be harder for her captors to pursue her.

But how to get to the fireplace, much less throgh the Floo when she couldn't walk? Her train of thought was interrupted when Mulciber's ruddy face appeared above her unexpectedly. He’d kneeled by her side wearing an infuriated expression, and was poking at her ribs with his wand.

"I'm talking to you, you stupid cunt," he growled, "When a pureblood speaks, you listen!"

He reached out and backhanded her so hard her head snapped to the side. Hermione reeled and her vision blacked out for a moment as she lay with her head in the position it had fallen. Save for her twitching muscles she remained motionless, now illogically afraid to catch Mulciber's attention or ire by making a single wrong move despite the fact that he was looking right at her.

Sensing her fear, he chuckled darkly and reached for her chin, roughly jerking her face towards him. The moment their eyes met, he whispered, " _Legilimens_ ," and having caught Hermione completely unprepared began to brutally delve into her mind. The sound of her own shrieks was quickly drowned out by the chaos of her inner world.

Her only saving grace, weakening by the second, was the _Occlusion_ she'd already had in place to compartmentalize the massive knot of writhing fear and negative emotions that had been steadily building within her as the night dragged on.

Despite her best efforts, Mulciber found purchase within the chaotic mess of thoughts in her head. He landed in a memory of a vacation with her parents during the summer before 4th year. There he began to wield the cruelest form of dark torture Hermione had yet to encounter.

He began to slash through her happiest memories with wild abandon, annhilating everything in his path and leaving only tattered remnants of remembrances in his wake. As his agonizing campaign of destruction went on, Hermione could feel each memory being extinguished and leaving behind a hollow depression in her psyche, like so much sand slipping through her fingers.

Unwilling to go down without a fight in the one domain where she actually had the power to retaliate, Hermione channeled her anger, humiliation, and fear into trapping Mulciber within the confines of her mind while _Occluding_ , uncaring of the potential damage it could cause her.

In the feral struggle against this man's darkness, Hermione was no longer concerned with self-preservation if it meant making sure he didn't get to walk away unscathed. She would sacrifice every happy memory she had to make this motherfucker pay if that's what it took.

Although she'd by no means become an expert _Occluder_ over the past few months, she'd certainly had time to practice as a means of distracting herself. She drew upon her mental fortitude to keep her writhing knot of _Occluded_ emotions at bay for a few moments longer, fanning the flames of her own misery like a bellows, encouraging the swirling mass of negativity to swell.

Next, she reached inward to connect with what was central to who she was at a witch, that wondrous core of power that had bequeathed her with magic by some universal coincidence, blood status be damned. She felt it rise to the occasion to greet her, closer to the surface than she'd ever felt it since she'd started using a wand.

With grim determination, Hermione coaxed her magic out further, satisfied to see that her work with wandless magic had paid off with lateral benefits. She felt more in tune with her magic than she ever had before—a disorienting feeling of triumph given Mulciber's ongoing mental attack and her poor physical state. She let her magic suffuse her psyche, stoked its crackling intensity, and let it flood her system until she felt at one with it.

Without a second thought, she stopped _Occluding_ the seething mass of darkness she'd held at bay in an effort not to lose herself to tonight's torture, and it exploded into her mind with the force of a tsunami. The sudden shift took Mulciber by surprise, and in the next instant his mental assault sputtered to a stop as he went on the defensive.

A psychic battle was being fought within Hermione's mind, but the one advantage her opponent didn't have in this fight was access to his raw power as ammunition within her mental landscape. He'd invaded her mind and violated her body, and now she would make him pay **for the intrusion.

Without knowing how she was doing it or why, guided completely by unleashed magic and intuition, Hermione began coaxing her way into Mulciber's mind despite the immense pain and discomfort it caused her to do so. It shouldn't have been possible given the fact that their engagement had started with _his_ invasion of _her_ mind, but she forced him back mentally, bit by bit, cleaving through his mental essence indiscriminately. Once she was more inside his mind than he in hers, she engulfed him in a conflagration of magic, incinerating all conscious thought in her path.

She watched through their locked gazes as his expression slackened, and she felt their mental connection waver and weaken considerably. Panting, she continued to wreak havoc upon his mind using the brute force of her teeming magic until she felt fire blazing through her veins, the feeling akin to an eye-watering migraine. When she could no longer keep her eyes open from the pain, she broke their mental connection and let her eyes sweep closed, essentially dooming Mulciber to something akin to temporary brain death.

The mental break caused Mulciber's body to slump on top of Hermione's chest with a groan. Hermione grit her teeth and stared at the decorated ceiling with an anguished grimace while she deliberated about what to do next. Before now, she'd had no idea what she'd done to Mulciber was even _possible_.

She was losing what little energy and adrenaline she had left to the maelstrom raging in her mind, and although her number of opponents had now dwindled down to one, she didn't think she had it in her to do much more than she already had. Still, she was _so close_ to freedom. If she could just hang on, she might actually get out of this one alive.

She weakly tried to move her body with little success. The most she could bring herself to do was move her arms around a few centimeters. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Mulciber's wand sticking out from between their bodies, and with slow and shaking movements she pulled it out of his slackened grasp.

A strong feeling of relief flooded through her body when she surreptitiously tested his gnarled wand and found it somewhat responsive to her magic. Her exhaustion deepened until she swore she could feel it in her soul—the only thing keeping her going at this point was the incandescent magic she'd lured to the surface of her being.

Hermione gripped the stolen wand tightly and let it fall by her side, slightly hidden in the space between her leg and her shivering arm, hoping that Selwyn wouldn't notice it. Now if only she could figure out a way to take him on in this state.

Selwyn saved her the trouble of figuring something out when he called out for Mulciber and received no response. He immediately ambled into view, and rushed over to them with his wand drawn when he saw Mulciber's body draped over Hermione.

"What did you do to him you foul bitch?!" Selwyn accused, reaching down to grab Mulciber's shoulder and turn him over. Despite his words, his behavior showed he was sure in the conviction that Hermione couldn't possibly pose a threat after what they'd put her through.

Instead of responding, Hermione waited until he drew closer and then aimed her stolen wand at him and whispered a strained, " _Stupefy!_ "

Selwyn crumpled atop her immediately. His weight settled with suffocating pressure on top of Mulciber's body, and in a fit of panic Hermione tried to squirm away, gasping for breath until she remembered she had a wand now. It took her a few tries given her injuries, but eventually she was able to levitate both men off of her. By now she was gasping from exertion. She wished she could just curl up on the floor and rest now that the threat had been momentarily dealt with, but there would be no peace for her as long as she remained in this room.

Laying spread eagle on the floor, she turned her head in the direction where she'd deposited Selwyn a scant meter away and weakly cast an _Incarcerous_ on his unconscious form. She followed it with a sticking charm, as well as any other bit of magic she could think of that would prevent him from getting back up or making any noise once he awakened.

Hermione quickly _Stupefied_ him again out of an irrational fear he'd wake up, and then sagged into herself in relief. With a sigh, she let her head roll to the other side, and was met with Mulciber's vacant gaze. There would be no recovery for him for quite some time, if ever, she realized grimly. Somehow, she'd essentially given him what amounted to a magical lobotomy, but she was mostly sure it wasn't permanent.

_I regret nothing._

Dispassionately, she attempted to heal her legs only to find that it required more energy and skill at healing than she possessed at the moment. _Figures_. With another resigned sigh, she considered her options, feeling emotionally flattened after this night of absolute, unbridled _hell_.

All she needed to do now was test whether she'd been right to assume that the fireplace was connected to the Floo. But how would she reach the fireplace?

Hermione zoned out while she tried to think through her exhaustion to come up with a solution, but she drew a blank after a few minutes. She didn't know how long she spent staring into space, but was so terrified at the thought of Selwyn waking up that she shot another _Stupefy_ at him just to be safe.

Resigned to the knowledge that she'd have to do this the hard way because she was too tired to think of anything better, she numbed her legs as much as she could and tried to temporarily relieve the pain anyway she knew how. Then, she began dragging herself centimeter by painful centimeter towards the hearth.

She blacked out a few times on the way, sobbing in frustration and determination. She was thankful every time she roused back into consciousness because it meant she still had a chance at surviving, and tried everything she could to convince herself to keep going, from stupid games to yelling to pep talks to soothing placations.

After what felt like a hellish eternity, Hermione finally dragged herself so close to the fire that she could feel its punishing heat sinking into her shivering frame, nearly singeing the ends of her wildly disheveled hair. With determined gasps, she _Accioed_ the Floo powder sitting on the mantle and grabbed a large handful.

With one last paranoid glance back at the room and its unmoving occupants, she threw her handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and tremulously called out, "St. Mungo's Emergency Ward."

Using the last of her strength, she tumbled headfirst into the brilliant green flames and disappeared into them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Every time I get a review or someone follows my story, I do a little happy dance. Thanks for your support!

Draco woke groggily the next morning feeling like every centimeter of his body had been hit repeatedly by a small army of bludgers. He swallowed past the dryness in his mouth and glanced at the clock. Breakfast was just beginning, and he felt too ravenous to ignore it. Stumbling out of bed, he grabbed some Pepper-Up from his trunk, and staggered into his bathroom while downing the spicy cinnamon flavored potion.

In the mirror he noticed that he was still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes, but it was the blood and bruises across his face that caught his eye. Where had they come from? What in the bloody hell had happened to him last night?!

He unbuttoned his shirt only to find more bruises littered across his chest, the worst of them concentrated near his sternum. With shaking fingers, he removed the rest of his clothes and stared uncomprehendingly at his pale and mottled skin in the mirror.

It bothered him deeply not knowing what had happened to him. It resonated with the frantic and anxious boy who'd been cowed by Voldemort's will up till last year, a servant to an evil maniac's whims. Draco had sworn to replace that boy at all costs, yet here he was haunted by his specter.

No matter how hard he tried to force his mind to give him what he wanted, he remembered very little of last night. He vaguely recalled drinking in the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Pansy, but he was drawing a blank after that.

_Was I drugged?_ He wouldn't have put it past some of his housemates, but Pansy and Blaise were low on that list.

He made quick work of showering, healing what he could, rubbing ointment on his bruises, and dressing. He was determined to get to the bottom of things, but he was also starving. The Great Hall would let him kill two birds with one stone.

On his way out of the common room he noted that Granger was nowhere to be found. Not that it mattered, perhaps she was already at breakfast. He'd spent less time with her so far than he'd hoped to. Maybe he could fix that today.

In the time it took him to come to that conclusion, her cat had darted out from beneath the couch and started meowing loudly. Crookshanks flicked his tale in agitation as he circled his empty food bowl suggestively.

Draco rolled his eyes and made his way to the Great Hall, muttering about annoying pets under his breath. On the way there, he noticed something strange in the atmosphere. There was tension in the air, a subtle buzzing of social energy that confused him.

He made his way to the Slytherin table where he was relieved to find Blaise and Pansy huddled together by the far end. They were arguing quietly over half-eaten plates of breakfast food and crumpled newspaper pages. Draco surprised them both by plopping down next to Pansy and reaching for an empty plate.

"Spill," he demanded without looking at them as he served himself a heaping plate of food, "What in the bloody hell happened to me last night?"

Pansy sputtered at the sight of him, staring at his mottled, slowly healing face in horror.

"Draco! Your face," she cried.

Blaise regarded him silently.

"What. Happened. To. Me. Last. Night?" he repeated icily.

Her expression morphed into one of confusion, "Last night? Dray, we haven't seen you since Friday!"

Draco's brow furrowed, "But that was only yesterday. Isn't it Saturday?"

Pansy's eyes grew round and she suddenly tensed and leaned in close. Her eyes darted around nervously, and her voice dropped to a whisper, "It's Sunday... Let's talk about this in your room when you're done eating. Now is neither the time nor place."

Draco's confusion only grew. If today was really Sunday, then that meant he was missing an entire _day's_ worth of time. A sharp current of alarm coursed down his back at the prospect of so much lost time. Anything could have happened to him in that time. It seemed like plenty of things _had_ happened to him in that time.

_What the bloody hell is going on?!_

"Fine," he conceded mullishly, his frustration made evident by his aggressive movements as he made short work of his breakfast.

They walked back to his rooms in a strained and awkward silence. Draco wondered why Blaise had yet to say anything, and idly wondered how much more fucked his day could possibly get.

By the time they'd made it to his common room, he could tell Pansy was bursting with the desire to speak. The moment the portrait door closed, she unloaded on him.

"Granger's at St. Mungo's. She was assaulted yesterday."

Draco whirled around to look at her, not sure if he'd heard her correctly.

"We found out about it in the Prophet a few minutes before you came into breakfast, but they haven't mentioned if they know who did it yet. And now you show up this morning looking like shite and conveniently missing a day's worth of time. This looks bad Dray," Pansy said frankly, lighting the fireplace at the far end of the room and pacing in front of it while muttering to herself.

Draco was gobsmacked, a sickening pit of worry and concern erupting in his stomach at the news that Granger was in bad enough shape to warrant time spent at St. Mungo's. What had happened to her? Was she okay? And how could he possibly have anything to do with it?

He shook his head, feeling lost, "But I–I don't remember any of what's happened since I last saw you two."

Blaise caught his eye and wordlessly used _Legilimency_ to invade his thoughts without asking. Had it been another time or place, Draco would have been the picture of spitting indignance and resistance, but as it was he felt desperate to show his few remaining friends that he wasn't lying.

As Blaise sifted through his memories since Friday, Draco felt himself falling into a downward spiral of emotions he was unused to feeling. The old him would have wanted nothing to do with opening that black box of anxiety. But now Draco felt no motivation to stem the tide, no motivation to hide from what his mind and heart were trying to tell him. He was too overwhelmed to run from himself anymore.

After what felt like ages mired in mental discomfort, Blaise retreated from his mind with a grim expression and turned to Pansy, "He's telling the truth. He doesn't remember anything past you and me Friday. His memory's been extensively modified."

"Fuck," Draco muttered shakily, dragging a hand through his hair as he fell back into the nearest loveseat.

Pansy's eyes narrowed, "The last time we saw you was in Slytherin common room on Friday night. You left with Theo and Elliot to... speak privately. We haven't seen you since.“

Draco turned to her with a question in his gaze. Why didn't he remember leaving the party that night with his two Slytherin housemates? His mind went back to the conversation he'd had with Nott earlier in the evening on Friday.

Draco knew that bastard had to be behind this somehow, "Where's Nott, then?"

Pansy grimaced and her eyes shifted downward, "I saw him a few times throughout the day yesterday, but he hasn't shown his face yet today. He hasn't behaved any differently, though.”

He caught her eye movements and the slight change in her body language.

"You know something," he hissed.

Pansy scoffed and paused in her pacing to roll her eyes at him, "Of course I know something. I _always_ know something."

"Then _tell me_ what the fuck you know, Pans," he growled, his eyes narrowing into slits.

She shared a long silent glance with Blaise before she sighed and asked, "What do you know about the Sons of Salazar?"

Draco took a moment to consider her question and shook his head, "Never heard of them."

His friends shared another long look.

"When you left with Theo Friday night... it was to talk about the Sons of Salazar."

She shifted nervously, but plowed on before Draco could interrupt her.

"It's a–" here she scoffed and shook her head slightly, "It's a secret society for purebloods."

_That's news to me._ Draco raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.

"They've been recruiting within Slytherin for awhile, since last year I think. You were bypassed for... obvious reasons," she shrugged, "No one in Slytherin expected you to make it out of the war alive, if I'm being honest."

_That stings._

Draco absorbed that information and wondered why neither she nor Blaise had mentioned any of this before. The trust he'd hesitantly guarded around his friendship with them began to weaken. In its place, a kernel of suspicion began to form. He remained silent, considering the implications of her words.

She resumed pacing, "I was so confused when Theo mentioned he'd be inviting you in this week. It didn't make any sense—until now."

At this, she stopped abruptly and shot Draco a piercing, indecipherable look. Something seemed to dawn on her.

"You were being framed," she exhaled quietly, her voice a cross between anxious and awed.

"What?!" Draco exploded.

"Ooooh that's rich!" she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "That conniving little roach! I'd be proud of him if it weren't for the fact that it's you, Dray."

"Explain before I hex you," Draco gritted out, quickly losing what little patience he'd started the day with.

"Doesn't it seem obvious?" she asked gesturing around wildly, "It's too perfect!"

Blaise sighed and stepped in to explain, clearly reading the exasperation in Draco's eyes.

"If what I saw in your mind is real, you're screwed. You don't have an alibi for the past day or so, your memory's missing, and you were _clearly_ involved in a struggle. On top of that, consider what happened last night to Granger, who just so happens to be Harry Potter's best friend, not to mention your former bullying obsession, and _your bloody roommate!_ All signs point to you, whether or not you remember any of it happening."

Draco's heart constricted at the logic Blaise had just laid out for him. It _did_ sound bad when he put it that way. It sounded like the perfect set-up.

_What if I_ am _the one who hurt her?_

But there was no way Draco would ever willingly physically attack Granger. Especially not after witnessing her torture in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor a few months ago.

_It never stopped me from attacking her with words before all of this though, did it?_

Under normal circumstances it may have taken Draco a few weeks or months to come to the realization that he no longer held any ill will towards Granger, but now? After this insane morning? He knew that he definitely didn't hate her anymore. Hell, he didn't even _dislike_ her all that much.

Chagrined, he realized that in the short week they'd been back at school, she'd more than grown on him. He'd started to look forward to the scant windows of time they spent together sorting out Heads' duties after their busy schooldays. Her intelligence, wit, and sharp tongue had caught his attention now that his mind wasn't as clouded by hatred, but it was her caring that had endeared her to him. She couldn't _not_ care about things.

At first he'd planned to use her to his social advantage, sure, but he had never planned on hurting her. Now, there was no part of him that felt interested in using her at all, not for any of his selfish ends. And especially not after this hellish day, which had only begun to unfold less than an hour ago.

_If it's been bad for me, then what must she be going through?_

A swell of self-recrimination and fury swelled in him at the possibility that he'd destroyed any chance he had of salvaging the Malfoy name by hurting the one person he'd hoped to befriend this year. The cold fire of indignation swelled further at the thought that he may have done it all under someone else's finger, like a _Merlinforsaken_ _puppet_.

Now all Draco wanted to do was channel his rage, preferably towards helping Hermione if he was indeed responsible for what had happened to her. He had to redeem himself. But how could he possibly fig–

"Draco!" Pansy's shrill voice cut through his musings, rousing him from the tangent his thoughts had taken, "Snap out of it!"

His gaze snapped to hers. She'd come to stand directly in front of him with her hands resting on his shoulders.

"What are you going to do?" she asked seriously.

His gaze hardened, "I'm going to McGonagall."

Pansy stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

"Have you gone _mad_?!" she hissed with incredulity, "Do you _want_ to throw your life away for something that may not even be your fault?!"

He tried to shrug her hands off his shoulders, but she dug her fingers in harder, "We can still fix this, Dray! We can still make sure this doesn't ruin you!"

Draco was shaking his head at her before she'd even finished speaking.

"No, Pans. The only way to fix this is to make it right."

She scoffed and tried to shake him, "You're not a hero, Dray! You're smarter than that."

Draco's expression hardened, "Maybe I want to be for once."

Pansy sneered, "Then you'll be doing it while rotting in a cell in Azkaban. Is that what you want?!"

"If that's what it takes, then yes!" he snarled.

Having heard enough, Pansy shouted, "I won't let you!"

Draco laughed bitterly in her face, "You don't get to decide!"

With that, he wrenched her hands off his shoulders and strode to the door, not sparing either of his companions another glance.

He heard Blaise's voice trailing after him as he marched resolutely into the hallway, "Looks like Draco finally grew a pair."

Before this weekend, Blaise's words would have infuriated Draco. Now they only served to further stoke the sparks smoldering in him, urging him onward. The heat of it felt unfamiliar to Draco.

Neither of his housemates followed him, and no one acknowledged him as he stormed through the castle's sparsely populated hallways. With a pounding heart and a grim expression, he came to a stop in front of the gargoyle statue that guarded the Headmistress' office.

He was relieved to see that McGonagall had broken with Dumbledore's precedent and left the entryway to her office open to students, no password required. With grim determination, Draco began his ascent up the steps and towards what he recognized would probably be the end of his time at Hogwarts.

Despite the gravity of the situation, strangely enough he couldn't find it in himself to feel much more than worry and concern for Granger. Perhaps he was in shock. The magnitude of what he was walking into was washing over him ineffectually, none of it really sinking in yet.

Draco would go to Azkaban for this if his suspicions were correct. Whatever his unwitting role in what seemed to have happened, there was no doubt that it violated his conditions of attendance and parole. But as long as he brought Theo down with him, it was a price he was willing to pay if it meant doing the right thing for once in his cursed life.

He climbed the steps in a daze. His heart had been frozen for so long, encased in sheet after sheet, and year after year of accumulated ice. As the light and warmth of his conviction drove him forward, reflecting and refracting through the glacial chambers within him that had remained cold and silent for so long, Draco allowed himself to hope.

_Please just be okay, Granger._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I did many happy dances this week in response to your reviews and follows. Thanks for your support!

Someone was holding her hand and rubbing it lightly with their thumb. The sensation drew Hermione out of a heavy slumber. Although her eyes remained closed, her hand twitched in response and her fingers flexed. The hand paused its movements and tightened around hers.

As if from a great distance, she heard a voice that sounded familiar, but it was difficult to hear what it was saying.

"–ione? Can you hear m–"

She felt another hand caress her face, brushing aside her hair to stroke her temple.

A second familiar voice joined the first.

"–can see her eyelids mov–"

The first few times she tried to open her eyes, she was unsuccessful. They felt too heavy, weighed down by the strange darkness from which she was emerging. After a few attempts she was finally able to push past her weakness and open them, only to flinch at the brightness of her environment. After a few more tries, she was able to keep them open, and made out two blurry forms above her.

"'Mione?"

She knew that voice. _Ron?_

As her vision cleared, she saw Harry sitting to her right and holding her hand. She also noticed Ron sitting to her left, his hand resting near her head. Her lips parted to speak, but she found that vocalization was beyond her at the moment. As more sensations began to spread into her awareness, she realized her throat felt sore and parched. She settled for lightly squeezing Harry's hand while she gathered her bearings.

He sighed in relief, "Welcome back, Hermione. Easy now.”

_Where am I? What's going on?_

Belatedly, she realized she seemed to be in a hospital bed at what appeared to be St. Mungo's. _But how did I get here?_

With curiosity and panic mounting, she finally managed to croak out half-intelligibly, "What happened?"

Harry spoke from her side, "Maybe we should start with the last thing you remember. Here do you want some water first?"

Hermione gratefully accepted the help from her friends as they helped her adjust her position so she could drink from the glass Harry offered her. She'd almost dropped it when she tried to hold it herself, so Harry was helping her hold it while she drank. She couldn't believe how incredibly weak she felt. She was so thirsty she drank the entire glass in one go.

Upon reflection, she didn't remember her arrival to St. Mungo's, and she mentioned this to both her friends. According to Ron, she'd landed in an incoherent, sobbing, and bloody heap in the lobby of the hospital's Emergency Ward at a little past 3 in the morning on Sunday, where aid had been rendered once the serious nature of her injuries became apparent.

Apparently an Emergency Healer had administered Calming Draught and Pepper Up potion at her insistence, at which point she'd been able to more coherently explain what had happened to her, and who had done it. Despite her bone deep exhaustion, she had been able to share her full testimony and memories with the Aurors assigned to her case, especially once she'd emphasized the urgency of the situation.

Harry said she'd made it a point to emphasize that Malfoy had been _Imperio'd_ , and that she'd stressed he'd been another victim in this scheme, not a perpetrator of it. She'd apparently also suggested that they backtrace the illegal Floo connection that had allowed her to escape if they wanted to apprehend two of her tormentors before the night was over, something Harry told her the Aurors had indeed accomplished. She was surprised to hear McGonagall and Pomfrey had also appeared by her bedside at some point, and she was still was unclear when or how Harry and Ron had known to show up.

It only took a few short minutes for the memories she _did_ have of that night to catch up with her. Although Harry and Ron's retelling hadn't reminded her of her arrival at St. Mungo's, they _had_ reminded her of the torture she'd experienced just before her arrival there. Hermione's breath hitched as the memory of her last few hours of consciousness slammed into her. A trickle of tears turned into soft sobs as she began to remember the horrific circumstances that had led her to this hospital bed, realizing just how close she'd come to dying at the hands of madmen.

Ron and Harry exchanged a few words before the redhead stood up and swiftly made his way out of the room. Hermione was too distraught to pay any mind to Harry's soothing words, nor to Ron's exit. Despite this, some deeper part of her was relieved to have her best friends here with her.

_I made it out. I did it. I'm alive._

Somehow that realization did little to alleviate the panic and anxiety that had begun to crash down upon her in relentless waves. As her emotions overtook her, she began to hyperventilate and tremble.

Harry's grip on her hand tightened and he raised it to his chest, placing her palm against his steadily beating heart. He breathed in and out with exaggerated motions and instructed her to breathe along with him.

"You're safe, 'Mione. They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe. Just breathe with me."

He repeated a litany of soothing affirmations as he encouraged her to follow his breathing pattern. By the time Ron returned with a Healer in tow, Hermione had managed to stop gasping for air, although tears continued to stream down her face.

What followed was a blur of medical questions and diagnostic tests. Hermione was glad for the distraction the Healer provided. The presence of both of her best friends certainly helped too. As it turned out, she'd been unconscious for two days. Although all of her physical injuries had been healed, she was still recovering from exhaustion of both the physical and magical varieties, which explained why it felt like such a monumental task to keep her eyes open throughout the entire ordeal.

Hermione could tell that her two best friends hadn't left the hospital much in the two days it had taken her to wake up. It gratified her to know she hadn't been alone even while she'd been unconscious. As the Healer finished up with her diagnostic spells and questions, she met Hermione's eyes wearing a sympathetic expression.

"We're going to keep you for another day of observation just to make sure there are no residual effects we may have missed. Rest up, Miss Granger, and make sure to let us know if you need anything in the meantime."

Hermione nodded gratefully, "Thank you Healer.”

Hermione was too tired to care about being stuck at St. Mungo's for another day – at this rate, she was pretty sure she'd be asleep for most of it. Apparently Ron and Harry thought the same, because they sank into their chairs on either side of her bed and leaned in.

"You look about ready to pass out," Ron told her with a small quirk of his lips.

Hermione's lips lifted slightly and she nodded sleepily.

"Go ahead," Harry said from the other side of her bed, "We'll be here when you wake up. You don't have to worry about anything."

Immensely relieved at the reassurance, she allowed herself to relax and let her eyes drift shut.

_It's okay. I'm safe now._

* * *

The next time Hermione awoke in the hospital, it was light out. To her left, Ron was pretending to read the Daily Prophet while dozing in his seat. To her right, Harry was scribbling furiously in a notebook while balancing a stack of parchments on his knee.

She took a few seconds to let the moment sink in, allowing herself to simply exist before the rest of reality could intrude on this calm scene. She knew that this was the most peaceful she would probably feel for some time. Already the tendrils of darkness, reminders of what had been done to her, were slithering unbidden from the depths of her mind.

For a few quiet minutes, Hermione zoned out, thinking about nothing in particular while the sound of Harry's scribbling soothed her into a more relaxed mindset. She let her mind wander as her gaze did the same. Eventually her sleepy eyes landed on Ron's hands as they loosely held the Prophet's crumpled newspaper pages.

Her eyes traced the strong lines of his fingers, some with small scars and imperfections, and she wondered how Auror training had gone for both of her friends during the time they'd been gone. At length, her eyes shifted to focus on what she could see of the newspaper Ron held. The front page was partially visible, and as the top headline registered in her mind, she let out an involuntary gasp of surprise as a sick feeling began to form in her stomach.

> " _Malfoy, Nott Heirs Detained for Their Role in Attacking War Hero After Public Outrage Mounts"_

The sound caught Harry's attention. His scribbling stopped immediately and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Hermione!"

With a furrowed brow, Hermione pointed weakly at the slightly crumpled headline in Ron's hands. The redhead was now fully awake, and was smiling at her with his own look of relief. His smile morphed into a look of confusion when he realized she was pointing at him, or rather at the newspaper he held.

"Malfoy," she croaked, struggling to speak past the dryness in her throat.

Harry hastily set his things aside, grabbed a cup of water from a table by her bedside, and helped her sit up to drink it. After she took a few sips and thanked him, he helped her adjust into a more comfortable half-sitting position.

"Why has Malfoy been detained?" she asked once she was settled, "He was as much a victim as I was."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, and gave Ron a warning look when he scoffed at her words, but the lanky redhead was undeterred.

"There's no reason to defend that jackass, 'Mione. He's only getting what he deserves," Ron said heatedly.

Hermione felt a rush of emotion at his dismissive attitude, but she couldn't identify exactly what she was feeling. Her mouth tightened as her eyes began to fill with tears. Noticing the sudden change in her expression, Harry reached for her hand and shot Ron an angry expression.

"You're not helping," he said across the bed, enunciating every syllable with a warning edge.

"I-I didn't mean to upset you, but Malfoy deserv–" Ron fumbled nervously.

" _Ron,_ " Harry ground out.

Ron relented, slumping back into his seat, "Sorry. I'm glad you're awake 'Mione."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione sighed, taking a deep steadying breath before turning back to Harry, "How long have I been hospitalized?"

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and responded, "This is your third day at St. Mungo's—it's mid-afternoon right now. Do you remember waking up at all last night?"

She nodded.

"Well, a few hours before you woke up yesterday, Malfoy was apprehended for questioning. Even though his story matched yours, some... particularly enraged people thought he should still be punished for violating his parole at all, even if it was against his will*.*"

Hermione shook her head incredulously, "But that's barbaric!"

Ron scoffed and Harry sent him a fierce and threatening glare, once again preemptively shutting him up.

Harry squeezed her hand comfortingly, "If it makes you feel any better, he's not in Azkaban right now. He's still being held in one of the Ministry's temporary holding cells while the bureaucracy scrambles to figure out who's going to blame him."

Despite Harry's reassurance, Hermione's brow remained furrowed, "How much has the nature of his involvement been communicated to the public?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, but Ron beat him to the answer, "To be honest, 'Mione, it hasn't been talked about much. When I _have_ seen the media discuss it, they've cast doubt on the idea that he was forced. I've heard some people say he didn't do anything he wouldn't have wanted to do anyway."

Hermione's gaze cut to his, "And are you one of those people, Ronald?"

Ron looked down uncomfortably as he scratched his chin nervously, "I _was_ until you woke up and showed me the error of my ways. He must have changed an awful lot for you to be defending him like this right now."

Hermione considered his words for a moment. Malfoy _had_ changed since last year. She'd been too busy with her duties as Head Girl too think much about it last week, but she liked to think of herself as a good judge of character. It wasn't just his behavior with her that had changed. Malfoy's predisposition had been completely transformed even in his interactions with their peers, with the school's faculty, and with the younger students. Of course, he'd retained his condescending and sneaky personality, but it was much improved.

Suddenly an image of him crumpled in front of the fireplace came to the forefront of her mind. She heard the echoes of his agonized cries, and flinched at the reminder. She occluded for the time being, knowing she'd have to address her feelings about that night sooner rather than later. She just didn't feel comfortable doing it now.

After a few seconds of contemplation, during which Harry and Ron patiently waited for her to work through her thoughts, Hermione responded, "Yes, as far as I can tell Malfoy's changed for the better since you last saw him. H-he apologized to me on the Hogwarts Express, before we were even back at school. He's even been deducting points from his own house."

Ron sat back in surprise, and Harry squeezed her hand again.

"I'll help you make sure justice finds the right people," Harry reassured her quietly, "But right now let's focus on you, okay? Now that you know he's not currently in Azkaban, can you breathe a little easier for the time being?"

Realizing Harry was right, Hermione forced herself to push thoughts of Malfoy aside for now and nodded.

Relieved, Harry smiled at her and ran his thumb over her knuckles, "Good. How are you feeling – really?"

Hermione paused to consider her answer to his question, because she didn’t want to lie to him. Physically, she felt wiped out, and her skin felt tight and slightly uncomfortable. Mentally, there was a massive storm brewing, yet for the most part she now felt hollow—more so than ever before. She found it extremely difficult to conjure any happy or positive memories to fill the negative space that had been carved out in her psyche.

"I'm..." she paused at a loss for words, "My body feels a lot better, but everything else..."

Her eyes began to well with tears again, and Harry murmured some soothing words before scooping her up into a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder, and felt Ron pick up her other hand to give it a supportive squeeze.

"Let it all out," Harry reassured her quietly, "You're okay now."

This only caused Hermione to cry harder as she clutched Harry's shirt, and for the next few minutes the only sounds in the room were Hermione's sobs, and Harry and Ron's murmured reassurances. When she was done, Hermione felt a little better, but she knew this was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the psychological damage she would have to overcome.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about safer subjects—her two best friends spent a good chunk of it regaling her with stories of their first weeks in Auror training. Ron was more than happy to use his rookie missteps as an opportunity to make her smile, and Harry was eager to examine their training methods with her. They also discussed the strict visiting restrictions that had been imposed for Hermione given the criminal nature of her attack. It meant that neither the Weasley family nor her classmates had been allowed to come visit her.

Healer Windmere eventually came in to check on her, and performed her daily round of diagnostic tests. When Hermione's results came back as expected, the older woman informed her that she would be discharged the following morning. The Healer recommended that she take at least another day or two off before returning to her full class schedule given how weak she still felt, if she even wanted to return to school at all. She left Hermione with a meaningful look and some parting words.

"Tonight you'll be meeting Healer Donovan, the Mind Healer St. Mungo's has assigned to you. I hope you're able to give her a chance to help you."

Hermione thanked the Healer hesitantly, anxious at the thought of having to meet a Mind Healer, but aware of how necessary the help would be. She'd already been struggling under the weight of her circumstances even before she'd been attacked, and she understood the futility in thinking she'd be able to handle it all alone.

Ron extended an invitation to the Burrow while she recovered, and Hermione decided that she would spend a night or two there surrounded by her surrogate family since her real family was unavailable. Although the thought of being back at the Burrow was a little overwhelming, the prospect of being surrounded by people who loved and cared about her far superseded that anxiety. With those things out of the way, near the end of the day Hermione met her best friends' gazes resolutely.

"There's one more thing I need your help with before I can rest easy tonight."

Harry's gaze softened and he nodded at her to continue, seeming to already have an idea of what she was about to say.

"I need your help organizing a last-minute press conference very early tomorrow, ideally before I'm discharged."

Harry and Ron agreed without a question, "Done."

Hermione's brow furrowed, "Don't you want to know why?"

Ron smirked, "I'm pretty sure I already know why. You want to set the story straight."

She nodded, relieved that he didn't seem to hold it against her.

"Malfoy deserves a real chance at redemption. I'm not going to let this be the thing that stands in his way," she said resolutely.

Harry and Ron shared a look across her bed and nodded in agreement. Harry replied, "We'll help you make it happen. Consider it done."

Hermione smiled gratefully at both of her best friends and reached out, holding their larger hands in her own and feeling grateful she had a strong support system at such a terrible time in her life. By some odd twist of fate, she'd now unwittingly become part of Malfoy's support system in her quest for justice. It wasn't a position she ever thought she'd be in, but if it meant ensuring he got a fair chance at redemption after the torture he'd also gone through, she was okay with that.

_I'm not going to let you go down without a fight, Malfoy._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I can't overstate how much everyone's support means to me. This is my first fanfic and your feedback/interactions with this story have given me a lot more confidence in publishing my work online! Also, I've been in denial about this for a few weeks now, but there's no way this story is only going to be 14 chapters long. I need at least a handful more chapters to finish this extended train of thought!

"You're one lucky bloke, eh, you know that?"

The Auror's words startled Draco, causing him to crumple the newspaper he'd been staring at in complete shock for the past few minutes. He felt inclined to agree with the officer given the news he'd received just awhile earlier, and his gaze darted down to the newsprint in his hands once more just to make sure he hadn't imagined it all.

_No, it's still real._

For the second time in as many months, Hermione fucking Granger had gone out of her way to publicly save his hide when she arguably had no reason to.

> _"Hermione Granger, War Hero, Calls for Immediate Release of Former Nemesis Draco Malfoy"_

The headline alone was shocking enough, but her actual statement was altogether stunning.

> _"Like me, Draco Malfoy was recently the victim of a horrific attack motivated by hatred at the hands of deranged wizards. Yet unlike me, he's received none of the considerations that any victim of magical assault should be entitled to. In fact, his persecution has only continued at the hands of the people and institutions that were meant to protect him as they now protect me._
> 
> _"Draco Malfoy may have once been my enemy, but I've seen firsthand that he's changed for the better. He deserves a chance at justice now, not recrimination. As a magical society we must do better. We can start by recognizing the possibility of rehabilitation if we ever want to rise above the harmful divisions that led us to war. This means acknowledging that some people can be redeemed, instead of insisting that all who stray from the light be perpetually punished for it._
> 
> _"I call on Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Miranda Marwick, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to see that justice prevails. Release Draco Malfoy from custody immediately, and give him the same affordances as a victim of magical assault that I've been given."_

He couldn't believe it. Never in a million years would he have expected Granger to speak up for him, especially considering the things he heard he'd done to her only a few days ago. Sure, she'd spoken in his defense at his trial, but that was different. This time, there was no one compelling her to speak on his behalf. This time, he'd _personally tortured her_.

Lost in thought, he stared at the grainy black and white animated photograph that depicted her speaking at St. Mungo's surrounded by reporters, flanked by both of her best friends. Despite her visible exhaustion, there was a stern tilt to her mouth and an angry crease between her brows.

_She's angry_ for _me—on my behalf..._

"That's twice now you've avoided Azkaban," the Auror continued conversationally as he entered Draco's cell, "Coulda sworn the next time you walked out of here it would be on a one-way trip there."

The older man shook his head in disbelief and whistled lowly while gesturing at Draco to get up, "What's more, I heard your friend's got Marwick in a tizzy. 'S a rare sight, that is. Never thought I'd see the day anything ruffles _that_ woman."

_Granger's not my friend... yet._

Draco dropped the newspaper and stood without responding, allowing the Auror to shackle him for what would hopefully be the last time ever in his life. As he shuffled awkwardly out of his cell and was led to the end of the cell block, he contemplated Granger's words and the faith she seemed to have in him. He also wondered at the power they seemed to hold, such was their authority. Her words had quickly moved the rusty gears in a still-recovering magical government that was infamous for its tortuous bureaucracy. It was more faith than most people had ever shown in him, and he wondered at the source of her conviction.

_I'm not complaining,_ he thought wryly. _It's more than I deserve, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I owe you Granger_ — _for the rest of my life._

The pair walked into a holding area where another Auror was waiting with the items Draco had been wearing when he was apprehended. His shackles were removed, and some paperwork was signed before he was sent off to a side room to change back into his robes. When all was said and done, he was released with no explanation for why he'd been held and interrogated without official charges in the first place. He decided not to push his luck.

He was given his wand and escorted out of the Ministry's temporary holding cells, out of the Auror department, and into the Ministry's bustling atrium. Pleasantly surprised at the lack of media attention, he made his way over to the fireplaces amidst the mid-afternoon traffic, and Floo'd to the manor to give his mother the good news.

When he finally stepped into his childhood home, he felt a wave of relief wash through his limbs. Never before had he been so sure he was going to Azkaban, and never before had freedom tasted so sweet, not even in comparison to his trial from a few months ago. In a silent reprieve before he sought out his mother, Draco made a promise to the universe and to himself.

He would become the kind of person that someone like Hermione Granger could respect. Not because of any secondary motives to get ahead, not so he could use her for his own selfish ends, but just because he cared that much about her opinion of him, now more than ever. It felt like exhaling from a years-long breath once he fully acknowledged this to himself.

He wanted to be a better person for _her_ , as ridiculous at that sounded. There was hope yet for him—she'd made sure of it. And how typical of her, such a perfectly Gryffindor course of action. Yet he was no longer complaining. How could he, when she was the only reason he was a free man right now? Twice now, it seemed Granger had been one of the only things standing between him and prison.

Of course, none of this erased the years of conditioning he'd received. It would take more than a few months and one instance of physical assault to strip him of the now-instinctual bigotry he'd learned to use as a crutch. He could disavow himself of it, but old habits were a bitch to break. He could pretend all he wanted, but there was still an undercurrent of meanness in him, he just hid it better now.

Experience had shown him that he didn't have to wield the darkest sides of him for evil purposes, though. He may not be able to change overnight his predispositions for Slytherin behavior, and indeed, why should he want to? No, he had a better idea. He'd use those qualities to achieve ends someone like Granger might appreciate.

Draco glanced up at the muted sound of heels clicking against the marble floor of the foyer. There was only one person it could be, and he felt a flood of relief at the sound of her approach. His mother swept into the room with tears in her eyes, and with an uncharacteristic lack of composure. They rushed to each other and when she was within arm's reach, he engulfed her in a hug.

"My dragon," she said with relief, clutching him fiercely before pulling back to look at him, "I thought I had lost you."

"You almost did," he quipped, tightening their hug and then releasing her. "If it wasn't for Hermione Granger, I'd be on my way to Azkaban. _Again_."

His mother responded softly, shaking her head once before shooting him a quizzical look, "I must admit, I was shocked to see her statement in the paper this morning. Were you expecting it?"

Her implicit question passed unspoken between them, _Why is she defending you?_

Draco shook his head, "I was as surprised as you were, Mother. An Auror casually stopped by my holding cell early this afternoon to tell me an executive decision had been made to release me immediately. He handed me a copy of today's _Prophet_ when I asked why. Considering what I did to her..." here he looked down and paused, "I'm— _we're_ indebted to her."

The pair made their way out of the room and into the foyer, and when Draco had finished speaking Narcissa abruptly turned to clutch him in another bone-crushing hug.

"I care not to whom we're indebted if it means you remain free, my son. There are far worse people to whom we could owe a debt of this magnitude in the present circumstances. Regardless of how terribly our relationship with her began, Miss Granger will hereupon receive nothing but gratitude and grace from the Malfoy family. It’s the least we can do.”

She paused, and here a cold ire began to rise deep within his mother's eyes, "As for the miscreants who thought to destroy the Malfoy name for their own dark devices—who sought to take my son from me... well that, my dear, is another story."

He smirked at the crafty and vengeful look that had crept into her expression, "I would expect nothing less from you, Mother."

They made their way to his mother's favorite veranda overlooking a small duck pond, and settled in for late afternoon tea. The normalcy of their quiet reprieve gave Draco whiplash. Just a few hours ago, he'd been filled with the anxiety and certainty of knowing his life was over. What's more, he'd been prepared to accept it given what he'd done to deserve it. Yet here he was now, contemplating the odd machinations of fate that had led him to freedom once again.

Of one thing he was sure. Like Narcissa, he intended to take down every single person who had thought to kick the Malfoys while they were down.

_You won't get away with this._

* * *

Two days later, Draco arrived in Hogsmeade anticipating an uphill battle against what was sure to be an avalanche of negative public opinion at Hogwarts. The news of his release had been published the day after he'd returned to Malfoy Manor. Predictably, it was another front-page headline in the _Prophet_ announcing the sudden turn of events, this time in his favor.

> _“Malfoy Heir Secretly Released from Auror Custody Amidst Public Outcry“_

His quiet release seemed to have caused a division amongst English magical society, even within pureblood circles. A surprising amount of Granger's former detractors, some of them former Death Eaters, had sided with her in this instance. Whether because they actually believed in her message, or because they opportunistically chose to capitalize upon the possibility of lessening their plight, he didn't know. Truly, it was his mother who'd done most of the legwork to learn where everyone stood on the matter. Many were masquerading under the flag of unity as a vehicle to ingratiate themselves despite their unapologetically undertaken crimes of the past.

Still, there was a sizable contingent of magical society who disagreed with Granger, who thought her mind had been addled from repeated exposure to the _Cruciatus_ , among other things. This condescending and nearly paternalistic contingent of witches and wizards insisted her word could no longer be trusted given her mental trauma, and the thought enraged him, as he was sure it must also enrage her. To be belittled and questioned after surviving such horrific trauma, after sacrificing so much for the wizarding world... he was somewhat familiar with the feeling, but he deserved it. He was less accustomed to being able to empathize so strongly with Granger, though.

She'd done nothing wrong, yet while _he_ had the luxury of selective amnesia, through no fault of his own she carried the full weight and memory of what had happened to both of them. Draco was determined to make things right with her, one way or another.

From what little he could remember of the events before he left the Slytherin common room that fateful Friday night, he knew that there was more to the story than just Nott, Selwyn, and Mulciber. After all, Pansy had mentioned an entire secret society operating under everyone's noses. He'd eventually have to get to the bottom of Pansy too, given her knowledge of the Sons of Salazar, but that would have to wait for now.

Draco adjusted the lapels of his woolen cape and made his way up the hill towards the castle to meet with McGonagall, appreciatively noting the lack of activity given the very early hour. He'd owled the Headmistress the day he'd been released from Auror custody, and she'd suggested he take a day to gather his wits before returning to school so they could discuss his situation. He was glad he'd followed her advice, if only for the opportunity to see his mother and regroup.

He reached the school's gates without incident, and was relieved to find the Headmistress waiting for him with what looked like a genuine, if wary, smile on her face. Although the second war had aged her considerably, the intelligent spark in her eye still shone as fiercely as ever.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said in succinct greeting, walking with him to the castle's front doors, "A relief to have you back. Let us speak in my office, we have much to discuss."

They made their way quietly through empty hallways, bathed in early morning sunlight until they reached the staircase that led to her quarters. Wordlessly, he followed McGonagall up the stone steps, remembering the last time he'd climbed them to turn himself in just a few short days ago. That encounter had gone far differently than he'd expected it would, as had the sequence of events following it. He wondered if this meeting would lead to a similarly unpredictable sequence of events.

McGonagall didn't take a seat when they arrived in her office, nor did she ask him to. Instead, she made her way to a tall, narrow cabinet near the far side of her desk. It was encased in glass and emitted a soft ethereal light. She pulled two small, vials of liquid from it—one crystal clear, the other silvery—and then turned to face him with a sharp look in her eye.

"Mr. Malfoy, when we discussed the conditions of your attendance for this year, we briefly touched upon extenuating circumstances. Given Miss Granger's public statement in your favor, and now that additional vital information has come to light, the school board and I have decided your enrollment at Hogwarts remains in effect. And despite serious reservations on my part, your position as Head Boy also remains intact at Miss Granger's strenuous insistence."

Draco's expression remained stoic in contrast with his growing sense of satisfaction. Despite their best efforts, that bunch of bigoted secret society arseholes hadn't totally ruined his chances of redeeming himself after all. Something must have bled into his expression because McGonagall's tone took on a stern edge.

"Having said that, I've decided your continued status as a Hogwarts student, not to mention Head Boy, is contingent upon two things. I've discussed these requirements with both the school board and with Miss Granger, and all of us have agreed upon my proposed methods. The student body's trust in the authority of your position as Head Boy will be jeopardized unless we can show that you submitted to these requests as proof of your innocence."

Intrigued, Draco's attention shifted to the small vial of clear liquid she held in her left hand, which she extended out to him.

"First, I am asking you to take this dose of _Veritaserum,_ and then answer a series of questions from me about the attack that took place, as well as questions regarding your intentions towards Miss Granger. I plan to preserve the memory of this session as part of an ongoing Auror investigation."

Draco gingerly took the small vial from her hands, staring down at it pensively.

McGonagall continued speaking, "Second, Miss Granger has requested that you view what happened the night of her attack, so that you may understand more fully what happened not only to her, but to you as one of the victims of the assault. Although she has very graciously offered her memories of the night, Aurors have instead provided Elezier Selwyn's memories to me for your perusal as part of an ongoing plea deal on his behalf."

Here she paused, "It will be more instructive if you see how things unfolded from his perspective. It is completely at your discretion whether or not you wish to submit to any of these requests, but your attendance at Hogwarts is contingent upon your acquiescence to both of them."

Draco's gaze quickly lifted to meet McGonagall's impassive expression. Without hesitation he responded, "I'll do it. Whatever it takes to prove I never wanted any part in it, I'll do it."

He uncorked the small glass vial he'd taken from her, and slid three drops of the colorless liquid into his mouth. A slightly cold sensation slithered down his throat and quickly settled in his stomach before spreading through the rest of his body, leaving a subtle chill in its wake.

"Very well, then," the Headmistress nodded decisively and led him to her desk, where she took a seat and gestured for him to do the same. He handed the vial back to her and sat across from her.

McGonagall began asking him a litany of questions, the first of which were mundane enough, before they steadily veered into more specific territory.

"Please state your full name", bled into questions like, "What do you remember about the night of Friday, September 4th," which in turn bled into, "What do you know about the Sons of Salazar," and, "Have you ever wanted to harm Hermione Granger?"

In each case, Draco responded swiftly no matter how personal the questions became—he’d been interrogated by Aurors multiple times already, after all.

He felt as if he was drunk without the inebriation now, as if it was the most natural thing ever to explain to McGonagall that his name was Draco Lucius Malfoy, that the last thing he remembered from his Friday night was drinking in Slytherin common room, that he’d never heard of the Sons of Salazar before Pansy mentioned them Sunday morning, and that he had never felt the urge to physically harm Granger despite his incessant bullying of her when they were younger.

Then came the more amorphous questions, the open-ended inquiries that revealed what he'd only recently realized. It started with McGonagall's question, "How do you feel about Hermione Granger and what you did to her?"

Without hesitation, Draco replied, "I feel ashamed and disgusted with myself for having been forced to hurt her, and for ever having made her think she was beneath me. Twice now, she's spoken on my behalf, saved me from a future full of misery in Azkaban. And twice now, I've witnessed or participated in her torture, doing nothing to help her in return for the kindness she's shown me because I'm too weak and pathetic of a wizard to have fought back. Yet I'm selfish enough to believe I still have a chance at any sort of interaction with her, because she's good, and kind, and forgiving... and I'm enough of a git to take advantage of that. If I have to spend the rest of my life saying sorry to that witch, it will be worth it for the good she's done me. Doesn’t hurt that she’s got an amazing arse, either."

Here the tips of Draco’s ears turned pink with embarrassment, but he barreled on while avoiding McGonagall’s gaze, “I've begrudgingly admired her for years despite being indoctrinated to hate people with her blood status. She doesn’t know it, but she helped me begin to realize the hate I was taught is rubbish. I want to earn her respect, even though there's little chance of that after what I did to her.“

McGonagall gave him an undecipherable look, the pregnant pause extending between them for a few long moments before she continued with her line of questioning. By the time she was done 45 minutes later, they'd explored every detail of what he remembered about the time leading up to his memory loss, as well as what he remembered after waking up that Sunday. They'd also explored his relationships with his various Slytherin housemates, as well as with various former Death Eaters.

When they were done, McGonagall exhaled deeply and caught his eye, "I appreciate your candor and willingness to submit to that interrogation on such short notice, Mr. Malfoy. I too believe you've been unfairly vilified in this case, and your cooperation only makes it easier to help your case."

Here she pulled out the second vial she’d taken from the cabinet earlier. She held the silvery substance before her and said, "This is Elezier Selwyn's memory from the night of Miss Granger's attack. Are you prepared to witness what occurred?"

Draco responded compulsively, “Yes, I'm ready."

The Headmistress held his gaze for another moment, and then stood to walk over to a pensieve that was sitting on a pedestal next to one of the room’s many bookshelves. He stood to follow her, and came to a stop across from her as she poured Selwyn’s memory into the confines of the stone basin.

“I’ll be waiting here when you’re done,” she said, giving him a meaningful look before redirecting her attention to the pensieve, “The _Veritaserum_ should have worn off completely by the time you’ve finished. I must warn you—it's not easy to watch.”

With a growing sense of anxiety, Draco tried to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to witness. With a deep breath and an exhale, he placed both hands on either side of the pensieve and tentatively leaned over its glowing contents. He was immediately transported into the night of Saturday, September 5th as Selwyn experienced it, and began to relive the events with sickening clarity.

What felt like an eternity later, he emerged from the memory with ashen skin, dropped to his knees, and promptly threw up on the floor.

It had been far worse than he could have imagined, not just because of what he’d seen happen to Granger—nor just because of what he'd _done_ to her, but also because of what he’d seen happen to him. He’d been brutalized and placed under the _Imperio_ and _Cruciatus_ curses as punishment for disavowing bigotry, and Theodore Nott had helped along every step of the way like a slimy brown-noser! Draco was vibrating with anger and nausea.

McGonagall rushed over to him in alarm and cleaned his vomit from the floor with a quick spell before touching his shoulder hesitantly.

“Mr. Malfoy, are you alright? Do you need medical attention?”

Draco shook his head and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, rising to stand at his full height, "I apologize Headmistress, I'm fine. I was just overwhelmed by what I saw. It was reprehensible."

McGonagall gestured for him to return to the seat in front of her desk once more. He sunk into it gratefully and ran his fingers through his hair with short, agitated movements. Now that he more clearly understood what had happened that night, he couldn't wrap his head around why Granger had chosen to defend him. He deserved to be punished for what he'd done to her, but he was too much of a coward to insist upon it now that he'd had a taste of freedom.

"Miss Granger's public statement on your behalf, as well as Mr. Selwyn's extracted memory and photographs recovered from that night are the only reasons why you're sitting before me as a free man, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said gravely.

"The Auror Department would have been setting themselves up for trouble had they chosen to prosecute you, especially once Elezier's memory was extracted and those photographs were discovered. It's unfortunate it took a few days for the truth to come to light, and I'm truly sorry for what you've gone through. Having said that, I urge you to tread lightly this year, for your own safety."

Draco scoffed, "Until I watched that memory, I didn't remember the half of it. It's Granger who deserves your sympathy, not me. She didn't have the luxury of being _Obliviated_ like I was," he muttered with self-derision while pulling at his hair.

Then he sighed deeply, "But I'll be careful, Headmistress."

McGonagall nodded with satisfaction, "Very well."

They spent another half hour going over the logistics of his return to Hogwarts after having missed a few days, as well as discussing the role he'd be playing in the ongoing investigation of the Sons of Salazar, especially given the discovery of their secret room. He left McGonagall's office dazed by information overload, and was followed by one more warning from the Headmistress to please tread carefully.

Draco plodded back to his quarters deep in thought, acutely aware of the looks he was receiving from the few students who were awake at what was still an early hour on a Friday morning. Their expressions ranged from curious to accusatory, which was just as well. McGonagall had mentioned she would be making a school-wide announcement absolving him of culpability once and for all during breakfast, but that was still an hour away.

Granger wasn't expected back at Hogwarts until Monday, which meant he had one day of classes and two days during the weekend to pull himself together. He could work with that. He had no idea what had motivated her to insist upon maintaining their current living situation, but he was sure he would need to mentally prepare for it. He had too many questions and not enough answers about her motivations, but was cognizant that he would need to tread carefully with her given what she'd gone through. The curiosity was eating away at him incessantly, though.

_Why Granger? Why stick your neck out for me like this?_


	10. Chapter 10

_You don't have to do this._

It was the refrain that had been bouncing around in Hermione's head for the past four days as she'd contemplated whether she could really stomach returning to Hogwarts after what had happened there only one week ago. This was on top of what she'd already been fielding in the aftermath of the war.

_What a mess._

The part of her that was motivated by spite wanted to return to school just to prove a point. The stubborn part of her agreed. The traumatized part of her was terrified at the thought, while the valiant part of her insisted the only way she could move beyond this was to face her fears head-on. Begrudgingly, most parts of her psyche agreed with _that._

It was the logical part of her that made the most compelling argument, though. Her parents had always emphasized the importance of earning an education, whether magical or Muggle. How could she possibly start adulthood properly without the credentials that proved she'd earned a fine magical education, and all without having to rely on her exalted status as a war hero? How could she possibly build a legacy her parents could be proud of, even if they never became aware of it?

The wizarding world was similar to the Muggle world in that way. OWLs, NEWTs, and other forms of standardized testing carried an immense amount of weight in magical society, and Hermione desperately wanted to make sure she gave herself the best possible chance of succeeding as an adult—without having to rely on her fame. She was _so close_ after 7 years, and she didn't want to accept that a violent ambush would be the thing to derail her educational aspirations once and for all. It would mean hatred had won, and there was no way she could allow that to happen. Not if she had a choice.

Ultimately, it was this sense of conviction which had convinced her to not only return to Hogwarts, but also to speak with McGonagall about ensuring nothing untoward happened to Malfoy because of his role in the assault. Her suspicion that his position as Head Boy could also be in jeopardy was proven correct when she spoke with the Headmistress, and she was grateful Minerva had been willing to listen to what she had to say.

It wasn't that Hermione _wanted_ to have to face Malfoy day after day in their quarters, where it had all began—the space she was supposed to feel safest next to her bedroom. She just thought it was rather like ripping the bandage off quickly as opposed to drawing it out pointlessly. Would she spend the rest of her life running from the forces that sought to destroy her, or would she turn around and face them the way she'd done every time when faced with the choice so far?

Was she so scared of the blond wizard that she'd allow his very presence to dictate how she proceeded in life? Would she always be controlled by her fear?

_No._

The Headmistress had written to her yesterday to let her know that Malfoy had passed both contingency requirements upon returning to Hogwarts, and would remain Head Boy at Hogwarts. Hermione was relieved that her actions had measurably improved Malfoy's outcome, but a small part of her was still scared at the thought of being in the same room as him.

She knew it wasn't all that irrational of a fear. He had tortured her for Merlin’s sake.

 _But_...

But he hadn't been in control of his actions. He may as well have been Selwyn's and Mulciber's sock puppet for all the control Malfoy had over his behavior when he'd kidnapped and harmed her. Yet it had been his face hovering over her along with theirs, his hands which had cast some of the spells whose psychological stains remained even now.

When all was said and done, how could she really hold any of that against him, though?

Then again, how could she _not_?

She thought back to the argument she'd had with herself on the Hogwarts Express on their way to the castle. Only two weeks ago she'd quibbled about his trustworthiness and the likelihood that his kindness was a ruse. Yet except for the day he'd attacked her while under the _Imperius_ , he'd done nothing to indicate his change of heart was anything but genuine.

Hermione just couldn't figure out why she was finding it so easy to let go of so much of her resentment towards him _now_ after he'd spent so many years being a smarmy antagonistic git not just to her, but to the world at large.

When it came down to it, sometimes she was simply tired of taking the high road. She wished she were petty enough to rage at Malfoy, to take all her anger and helplessness out on him as punishment. She wished she could let those emotions consume her, wished she could _want_ to hurt him like he'd hurt her. But she didn't have it in her to be so vindictive, didn't have the energy to let such destructive negativity fester within her when it was all she could do to keep herself afloat.

 _You_ _really_ _don’t have to do this._

It was Sunday night, and she was just leaving her meeting with McGonagall upon returning to Hogwarts earlier in the evening. Their meeting had thankfully taken place during dinner time when most of the castle’s inhabitants were occupied. Although she hadn’t been expected to return until the next morning, she’d decided to give herself a little more time to adjust to being back at Hogwarts before being thrust back into her class schedule.

It would have been ambitious to say Hermione was in a good state of mind. She'd concealed the darkest of what was going through her head from everyone save the Mind Healer who'd been assigned to her case. Even then, she'd only met with Healer Donovan once so far. Still, she wasn't sure what she would have done without the support of the Mind Healer. Although Hermione had never been to therapy of any kind before, she was quickly able to find her rhythm with Healer Donovan, and had found it easy enough to confide in the older woman during the two hours they'd spent together. They would be meeting every week for at least the next few months on Tuesdays after Hermione's classes.

For now, a regimen of carefully dosed Dreamless Sleep potion had kept her somewhat sane during the hours when she'd huddled in Ginny's room in the Burrow, terrified of what the night might bring. She'd spent the rest of her time with Harry, Ron and a few of the other Weasleys reading, cooking, playing games, and crying in fits when the urge overtook her. Despite her well-founded fears, two out of her four nights had resulted in uninterrupted sleep, and only one of the nights had resulted in any nightmares containing Malfoy.

 _Not bad, all things considered,_ Hermione thought glumly.

But she couldn't rely on Dreamless Sleep for much longer before she'd need to take a break for a few days. Potion dependence was the last thing she needed on top of everything else right now. Healer Donovan and Madam Pomfrey would be keeping a close eye on her in this regard, she was sure of it.

She sighed and came to a stop in front of the portrait of a larger than life, fluffy kneazle that led into the Heads’ quarters. As she stared up at the painted feline as it prowled around its mountainous habitat, she wondered how she would ever be able to get back to normal. The prospect of graduating suddenly seemed like such a faraway goal.

Suddenly, the painting of the magical creature preening before her sparked a reminder that sent horror and immense guilt flooding through her veins.

_Crookshanks!_

She’d been so distracted by the attack and by her recovery during the past few days that she’d completely forgotten about her beloved pet! She frantically murmured the password and rushed into the Heads’ common room feeling like a terrible person only to abruptly stop short in surprise. As the portrait door swung shut behind her, she studied the scene before her with wide eyes, rendered speechless.

Malfoy was kneeling next to the nook that contained Crookshanks' food and water bowls, looking just as surprised as she felt. His right hand was extended in the process of filling one of the bowls with cat food, while his left hand was occupied rubbing said cat-kneazle's freely exposed belly as the feline appreciatively eyed the kibble Malfoy was pouring. He'd clearly been cooing at Crookshanks before she barged in.

Both wizard and pet froze at her entrance, and for a few moments, no one in the common room moved. At length, Malfoy finished pouring the rest of the cat food and then slowly stood to fully face Hermione. Seemingly at a loss for words, his gaze swung from her, then down to the creature now happily gorging on food, and then back to her again.

"He didn't go hungry," he said simply, a thousand emotions seeming to pass through his eyes before they disappeared beneath a poor attempt at a neutral expression.

Despite the avalanche of emotions that was also cascading through Hermione at their odd and sudden encounter, an overriding sense of relief allowed her to move her limbs and take a small step towards Malfoy and her oblivious pet.

Although she'd never known him to be a nervous talker, Malfoy fumbled with his next words, "When I found out what happened—on Sunday, when I was taken in... I asked McGonagall to make sure your cat was fed."

It took a few seconds for his words to catch up to her. She felt a rush of gratitude towards him in that moment, and it was hard to hold on to her fear and anxiety in the face of it. As tears of relief filled her eyes, she thought that perhaps she could set those negative feelings aside for just a moment to thank the gods that Malfoy had thought to look out for Crookshanks when she hadn't been able to. He was still a terrifying wizard in his own right, and she had good reason to be wary of him, but the consideration he'd shown through such a small yet important gesture was hard to ignore.

"Thank you," she choked out with tears beginning to stream down her face, "Sorry, I'm just so relieved to know he's okay. I feel terrible for having forgotten about him until just now. I don't know what I would do if I l-lost Crooks, too."

An unspoken question quickly formed and disappeared on his face before his expression settled into one of stolid determination.

"You don't need to apologize to me, Granger. For anything. Ever," he said quietly with an intense glint in his eyes.

He dragged his hand through his hair, and his gaze briefly lost focus before he zeroed in on her again, "In fact, I'm the one who should be begging for your forgiveness. All I seem good for lately are apologies, but... gods Granger, I'm so sorry."

Hermione nodded, wanting to respond but the words kept getting stuck in her throat, and she was unsure how best to express her feelings. She didn’t even know _what_ she was feeling.

After a few tries she responded tremulously, "I accept your apology. I really do... But I'm going to need s-some time to myself... away from you. This is all a bit much right now."

Malfoy held his hands up at chest height and began to walk backwards towards his room, "Of course, that's only natural. If you need anything—if there's anything I can do to help you, just knock on my door. I'll be in my room for the rest of the night."

He quickly made his way to his bedroom door and had turned to walk through his doorway when she called out.

"Wait, Malfoy."

He froze and turned to face her with a question in his eyes.

Trying to gather her courage, Hermione said, "I'd like to... I'd like for us to talk about what happened at some point, if you're... okay with that."

She could tell she'd caught him by surprise again, but Malfoy nodded slowly, "If that's what you really want, then yes, of course."

Hermione held his gaze briefly before diverting her eyes, "I think it will be for the best if we try to speak frankly about it—to help clear the air."

Malfoy hummed in hesitant agreement, "Whenever you're ready to talk about it, you know where to find me. Good night, Granger."

With that, he disappeared into his room and quietly closed the door behind him. Hermione stood staring after him for a minute before she shook herself from her thoughts and made her way over to Crookshanks, who was still happily munching away at his dinner.

 _He almost seems scared of_ _me_.

But that wasn't right. Draco Malfoy, scared of Hermione Granger? Shouldn’t she be the one who was terrified of him right now? Then again, when she tried to put herself in his shoes, she realized how difficult of a position he must be in. To feel guilty for something you couldn't remember doing—something you'd been completely _coerced_ into doing. She shuddered at the thought.

Between the two, she'd rather remember that it had happened, as painful as the memory was. _Obliviation_ after the fact felt too much like a last insult, an invitation to play endless guessing games about what had transpired. It was why she'd insisted Malfoy watch a memory of that night. As painful as she knew it must have been for him to watch it, she figured it would have eventually eaten him alive inside otherwise—the not knowing would have been terrible. She’d assumed they’d be similar in that respect.

She walked over to Crookshanks' nook and knelt near the spot Malfoy had inhabited only a few minutes ago. By now her pet had eaten his fill, and he finally seemed ready to acknowledge that Hermione had returned after her extended absence. He purred loudly and rubbed up against her a few times before rolling himself onto his back for more belly scratches, almost as if demanding payment for her unexpected disappearance. She of course obliged, smiling softly at her pet's huffy attitude. She let her gaze wander back to her fellow Head Boy's bedroom door.

His behavior just now showed exactly how shaken he must feel about everything that had happened between them. If his demeanor had surprised her on the train to Hogwarts just last week, it was nothing compared to the difference she'd noticed in him tonight. Gone was any semblance of the arrogant tilt to his mouth, the calculating look in his eye, and the self-satisfied body language.

There had only been remorse and endless self-recrimination in the tightness of his eyes tonight, and in the slump of his shoulders. It might as well have been someone else in a Draco Malfoy disguise for all his behavior reminded her of the person she'd previously gone to school with for years.

In what she recognized was perhaps a controversial turn of thought, she found herself feeling morbidly glad to have someone who understood some of what she was going through, even if it _was_ Malfoy, and even if it involved his trauma too. She didn't need to explain anything to him, he knew what had happened, he'd seen the memory and had suffered that night, too. In fact, he'd suffered the previous night, too based on the memories that had been extracted from Selwyn's mind.

What's more, she cared enough to recognize what hadn't been apparent to her before his trial.

Aside from his mother, who was hundreds of kilometers away, and perhaps Minerva McGonagall, there was no one else who seemed to give enough of a damn about Draco Malfoy to ensure he wasn't treated like dirt after having been violated. Sure, Hermione had suffered greatly that night—no one could deny that. And indeed, she'd suffered greatly before, a few times. So had he. The difference between them lay in the support systems that were there to catch them when they fell.

Hermione had left St. Mungo's a few days ago amidst the clamor and din of a worried Weasely family, and a horde of worried friends. Malfoy had in turn probably left the Ministry and returned to Malfoy Manor to be greeted by his mother and perhaps a house elf or two, if the family still employed any. Last she'd heard, his father had received the Dementor's Kiss. He'd be one of the last to receive it if Minister Shacklebolt had his way.

If she extrapolated backwards in time, she realized the only support system Malfoy had most likely ever known had collapsed with the start of the second war—and it hadn't been a great support system to begin with. She knew it wasn't an excuse for his downright terrible behavior at times, but she found sympathy welling up for the wizard who'd greeted her while buttering up her cat just now when he thought no one was watching. She could hardly reconcile him with the churlish boy who had antagonized her for so many years. Perhaps she would have to get to know this new version of him.

_Intrigued to meet you again, Draco Malfoy._

* * *

"...er, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's anxious gaze swung up to face Professor Flitwick, who was standing near the front of the class.

She was silent for a few more seconds before responding hesitantly, "I—I... actually... I don't know the answer, Professor."

Someone may have gasped near the back of the class, but she was too busy berating herself to know for sure. She'd raised her hand just now, sure in the knowledge that she could answer the question Professor Flitwick had just posed. She'd read about this subject just last night before going to bed, after all.

Flitwick seemed to stumble for a moment before regaining his composure.

"Not to worry, not to worry at all, Miss Granger," he said briskly.

His nervous eyes frantically searched the classroom and alighted on another student to ask, "Who else? Can anyone tell me when and where _Homenum Revelio_ was first documented in magical literature?"

Professor Flitwick seemed eager to take the attention off Hermione so no one would focus on her gaffe. She wished she could say it was a one-off, but she'd been having problems like this all week. Not only was she finding it extremely difficult to keep her mind on her studies, she also wasn't retaining what little information she did manage to take in. Her reflexive decision to offer an answer just now had been more muscle memory than anything else.

Lately the two things she usually loved to do—reading and studying, held little interest for her. Her eyes would drift and lose focus after a few minutes. Her mind would wander, and her limbs would fidget incessantly when she was supposed to be concentrating.

Last night, Madam Pince had even had to ask her to please stop tapping the end of her wand on the library table she'd claimed. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it, much less loudly enough to attract so much attention. She'd sheepishly apologized and gathered her things before fleeing to her quarters.

Hermione was tired of those, too. The luster of staying in the Head Girl's rooms had worn off completely, and instead the four walls had begun to close in on her at times. It was only Thursday, yet it seemed like she'd already spent countless hours holed up in her room at night, barely managing the darkest tangents her thoughts would take.

Lately, she'd been experiencing more of the psychological and physiological ramifications of the torture she'd undergone. She'd begun to feel the phantom sensation of bugs tickling their way up her arms and trailing along her legs on and off throughout the day, invisibly intruding upon her already strained hold on stability. Along with that disturbing symptom, she'd begun to experience small muscle spasms throughout her body, especially concentrated in her hands and feet. Combined with the arthritic pain that had started creeping into her joints as the year transitioned into colder weather, the act of going about her day felt nearly impossible at times. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep her mind off the hopeless spiral she was tempted to fall down. She knew she’d eventually have to visit the Hospital Wing, but for a little while longer she wanted to pretend things hadn’t grown so dire.

She was grateful for the large window in her room facing the lake and the scenery beyond it. She had been avoiding Malfoy this week, so when she needed to take her mind off things while he was lounging in their common room, she would sit in the plush window seat she'd transfigured, and she'd lose herself in the beautiful nighttime landscape while wrapped in as many blankets as possible. She had also taken to enjoying long, hot bubble baths late in the evening, but had decided to scale them back after she'd fallen asleep in the tub for the second night in a row only to be woken up both times by nightmares featuring Bellatrix or Selwyn.

She was frustrated that she didn't seem to be able to get through a single night without contending with the echoes of what she'd gone through. It was discomfiting how reliant she'd become on Dreamless Sleep to even function in the past few days. It was even more discomfiting to realize that the same dose of the potion wasn't working as effectively for her anymore.

Last night had been the first time she'd abstained from her dosage this week, and she hadn't slept a wink. However, even the dosage she'd taken during the two nights before that hadn't been enough to fully overcome her debilitating nightmares along with the side-effects of her assault. Lately when she took Dreamless Sleep, she would wake terrified in the middle of the night, groggy and unsure of what had scared her in the nightmare from which she'd awoken. It was better than waking feeling like she was still stuck in her own personal form of hell, but only slightly. She was too scared to take more of the potion, though.

As she collapsed into the sofa in her common room after dinner (which she'd chosen to spend in the library), she figured that something would eventually have to give. Thankfully, Malfoy had reassigned her patrols to himself and some Prefects until further notice. This meant she had a few predictable windows of time during which she had free reign over their quarters when he was guaranteed to be gone. Now was one of those times, and not a moment too soon. She muttered an _Incendio_ and watched the dancing flames in the fireplace as she contemplated why she was avoiding him.

With every passing day since she’d returned to Hogwarts, Hermione had grown increasingly confused about her feelings towards Malfoy. Sure, the onslaught of anxiety and paranoia that came to the fore at the sight of his face were to be expected after a week back at school. But the curiosity, the desire to get to know the wizard whose vulnerability had been laid brutally bare before her very eyes? Well, those were certainly new feelings to contend with.

And so she remained wary of him, suspicious of the empathy and camaraderie towards him that had also taken root in her heart. She wasn't exactly sure why this particular cocktail of emotions had only crystallized now, nearly a week after all was said and done, even after she'd chosen to publicly defend him.

She suspected it might have something to do with being in such close proximity to him again. His very presence overwhelmed her now. The sight of him reminded her of all of the unknowns that remained about what had happened to her. It bothered her that whatever transpired between the time when Malfoy kidnapped her and the time he brought her to the secret room would probably forever remain unknown. It was terrifying to think about, yet much as she tried to put it in the back of her mind, it slithered into her awareness at the most inopportune moments—like now.

And yet... Hermione simultaneously found herself intrigued by him, and resentfully attracted to him in some small way. Even without his entitled and arrogant attitude, Malfoy filled the room and sucked up all of the air when he was nearby. It was as if some morbid sense of fascination drew her attention to him, and she felt helpless to stop it. That lack of mental control bothered and confused her, so she stayed away from him, reluctant to add yet another bundle of emotions she didn't understand to the bonfire that was her life. She had enough on her plate as it was.

Hermione spent awhile lazily playing with Crookshanks on the sofa, teasing him by projecting a point of light from her wand and waving it around, which he chased. It felt good to chuckle again—it was something she'd had so little reason to do lately. She'd taken a break to stare at the fire, lost in thought, when the portrait door swung open to admit Malfoy’s lithe form.

At some point on his way to their quarters he'd removed his robes, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His mouth was set in a hard line and he looked preoccupied. Hermione's mouth went dry, and she tensed when he closed the door and walked towards the desk closest to him. He stopped when he noticed her lounging on the sofa by the fireplace.

"Granger, didn't see you there. Hello," he said cautiously.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a patrol with Engelbart right now?" she asked, uncaring of the accusatory note in her voice.

His expression grew confused, and he dropped his things on the table before fully facing her, "That _is_ where I've been. It's past 9:30, we just finished handing off to Weasley and Harris."

Her heart stuttered for a second. _I can't have been sitting here for that long! It felt like less than an hour!_

A hint of concern crept into Malfoy's voice, "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

After nearly a minute of silence Hermione responded, "I—no, it's nothing."

He continued to stare at her, clearly fighting an internal battle with himself as he considered what to say next. Wanting to escape from the situation, she jumped up from the sofa and made a beeline for her door.

Malfoy scoffed nearly imperceptibly from behind her, and at the sound of it she came to a stop only a few paces away from her bedroom door. An unexpected lick of anger shot up her spine at the sound of his derision. She spun to face him.

"Did you just _scoff_ at me?"

A spike of frustration shot across the sharp planes of his face before disappearing behind an impassive expression.

"And if I did?" he asked cooly, an undercurrent of challenge in his tone.

Her ire only grew at his feigned nonchalance.

She threw her hands up and bit out, "It would be par for the course for you," she accused, adding, "What is your _problem_?!"

His sharp response took her by surprise, "My problem is you! Why are you doing this to yourself?!"

She stopped short, "Pardon, _what_?"

He began to pace to the door and back, messing with his hair and shaking his head while gesturing at her.

"It's obvious you're not sleeping. You've been spending more time alone than ever, even skipping meals in favor of hiding in the library. I've seen you struggling in class. You've refused the help of your friends. And you missed your Mind Healing appointment this week. Screw walking on eggshells. Someone needs to tell it to you straight," he shot back.

She stared at him slackjawed, stunned by the words that were coming out of his mouth. She'd barely seen him all week—on purpose. _How the hell does he know all of this?!_

Malfoy continued to rant while pacing, seemingly on a roll now.

"And don't even get me started on this fucked up living situation. Why didn't you just let me rot away in Azkaban?! My presence is clearly bothering you. Otherwise you wouldn't be holed up in your room all the time, terrified to breathe the same air as me."

He seemed nearly out of breath by the time he was done, his cheeks pink and his eyes gleaming with a strange look she’d never seen in them before.

Shocked, she ignored his questions and sputtered, "Have you been _watching_ me?"

Malfoy scoffed more loudly this time, "If that's what you call it when someone looks out for your wellbeing, then sure, I've been _watching_ _you_ , Granger," he drawled. "So has Weasley. So have Longbottom, and Lovegood, and the rest of the sickeningly sweet assortment of students here who call you their friend."

She shook her head incredulously, staring at him as if he'd grown tentacles for brains. _Malfoy_ concerned for her wellbeing? Flobberworms would sooner turn into sea serpents! Despite the cordial détente they'd held at Hogwarts so far this year, despite his plea for her to run when they'd been attacked, he'd never said it so plainly to her before.

_If that's what you call it when someone looks out for your wellbeing, then sure, I've been watching you, Granger._

The fight drained from Hermione's body and her shoulders slumped. It would be pointless to argue against her best interests, and she knew it. She was so tired, and definitely not looking for another fight right now.

It was the last thing she would have ever expected to hear from the likes of him, though.

_Will wonders never cease?_

In a softer tone, he said, "It doesn't have to be with me. It doesn't even have to be with your friends. But you don't have to bear this weight alone. In fact, you shouldn't. It's obviously starting to wear on you. Accept some bloody help, Granger—you clearly need it."

Choosing not to take that as an insult, she considered his words. Hesitantly, she made her way back to the sofa and sat perched on its edge.

_Maybe he's right._

Truth be told, she'd been afraid to go back to Healer Donovan's office. It had started as subconscious avoidance, and had developed into a full-blown panic attack the day she was supposed to go after classes. She'd owled the Mind Healer and said she wasn't feeling well, but she knew she couldn't do that every week, nor did she want to. She'd only be hurting herself.

Hermione saw the irony in her current situation. Only a few days ago she'd been ruminating on Malfoy's lack of a support system in his time of need. Yet here she was, eschewing her own available support system when she arguably needed it most. What's more, now _he_ was the one reminding _her_ to accept some help. Draco fucking Malfoy was giving her mental health advice and Hermione felt compelled to pinch herself to make sure she hadn't actually slipped into some lucid dream.

"Much as it pains me to admit you could be right about something," she said in an attempt at wry humor, "You do have a point."

He exhaled loudly and made his way to the love seat across from her, "Of course I do."

"Except..." she trailed off as she stared at him oddly, trying to gather her thoughts. "Except you're wrong about some things. You don't deserve to be in Azkaban, and your presence doesn't bother me... _that_ much."

He looked at her strangely, "Granger, you don't have to lie."

Stubbornly, she replied, "I'm not lying."

He covered his face with one hand and groaned, leaning back into his seat, "Much as I'm loathe to bring it up, I _kidnapped_ and _tortured_ you–“

She cut in, "While under an insane version of the _Imperius_ curse."

He scoffed, still covering his face with his hand, "I should have been able to resist it regardless. Potter was able to resist the _Imperius_ as a student, wasn't he? What kind of a wizard am I to have just followed someone's orders like that? And oh yes, in case you'd already forgotten, I also _bullied you_ _for years._ Not exactly Wizard of the Year material, am I?"

She straightened in her seat, "Are you, or are you not a different person now? A better one? Was everything you told me on the train a load of bollocks, then? Just a bunch of pretty words?"

He dropped his hand abruptly and his bright gray eyes sought hers. "No, it was all true," he replied mulishly.

She nodded decisively, "Well then, there you go. You can't sanctimoniously preach to me about accepting help while sitting there refusing to accept any advice yourself."

He chuckled darkly and shook his head, "Well, when you put it that way..."

They sat in silence for a few moments, their respective trains of thought interrupted only by the crackling of the fire and by Crookshanks' incessant desire for attention. Something Malfoy had mentioned earlier occurred to her.

"Have you—hold on, have you been talking with my friends about me, then?" she asked him curiously.

Malfoy gave her a side-eyed glance while rubbing his chin, "Talking would be a generous way to interpret the confrontation Ginny Weasley and I had last week, but yes, you could say we have been talking in a fashion since then."

Her eyes filled with mirth, imagining the fury Ginny must have unleashed on Malfoy for the part he played in her attack, however unwitting. She should feel sorry for him, and she felt slightly hypocritical for not feeling bad, but she just found the thought too humorous.

He noticed the small curve of her lips, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Weasley's a lot stronger than she looks, you know."

Hermione couldn't help herself. Her lips curved up higher, "You seem to have a penchant for getting punched by Gryffindor girls."

He raised a pale eyebrow, "I've hexed lesser wizards for pointing that out."

She shrugged, "Well, I'm not lesser wizards, am I?"

Malfoy gave her a thoughtful look, the mirth in his eyes disappearing, only to be replaced by that familiar look of intensity.

"No, you're not. You're..." he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought despite the fact that he was staring right at her.

"Er, Malfoy?" she asked tentatively.

He blinked, and after a few moments murmured, "You're incredible."

Hermione wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly, "Come again?"

Malfoy sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye, "Truly. You spoke up for me. _Me of all people_. You arguably saved me from years of imprisonment despite what I was forced to do to you. You didn't have to help me at all, yet you chose to do it anyway. So thanks, Granger."

Taken aback, all she could think to say was, "You're welcome, but it's what anyone should have done."

"Not everyone's willing to defend a Malfoy these days," he said quietly, "For good reason."

With that, he heaved himself up from the love seat and made his way over to the table where he'd dropped his things.

"I believe you have a certain red-haired friend who would appreciate a word or two with you tomorrow morning as reassurance that you haven't fallen off the face of the planet," he suggested casually as he pulled out some parchment and a quill.

"She was quite adamant I pass that message along to you tonight since you've been ignoring her owls and avoiding her in person. I rather like having an unbroken nose, you know, so I suggest you get on with it."

Hermione nodded sheepishly, "I'll speak with Ginny first thing tomorrow," she paused before adding, "Thanks, Malfoy."

 _I’ve been thanking him far too much this week,_ she groused.

He hummed in response, and made his way towards his room, calling out over his shoulder, "Don't mention it. Night, Granger."

As she walked to her room to get ready for some light reading before bed, Hermione could only wonder where else this year would take her. She hoped it would be somewhere good for a change.


	11. Chapter 11

"You've been surprisingly even-keel considering you've been living with the witch you tormented. What gives?"

It was the first thing of substance Blaise had said since they'd retreated to Draco's room Saturday night to drink Firewhiskey and have a much needed tête-à-tête. In fact, this was the first time they'd had the opportunity to speak privately since Draco had returned to school after his release from the Ministry. This conversation was long overdue.

"And you're being surprisingly chatty considering how unhelpful you were the Sunday I turned myself in, Zabini. What gives indeed," Draco said cooly.

Blaise sighed and took a long swig of his drink before responding, "I didn't expect Pansy to become a liability this quickly, but here we are. Turns out she's been shagging Nott for the past three weeks. I decided to sit back and observe, see what other information I could gather. She still thinks I'm a neutral party, you know. They all do."

"And _are_ you neutral, Blaise?" Draco queried softly. He was surprised to hear that Pansy and Nott were an item, but didn't let the news distract him just yet.

"Not anymore," Blaise muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and took a deep swig of Firewhiskey, appreciating the cinnamon heat that bled into his stomach as he stared moodily out his room's lone window.

At length, Blaise continued, "You can't blame me for not helping last week, mate. If any of us steps one foot out of line with this lot, that's it for us, it's off to Azkaban. I wasn't about to stick my neck out for you without being sure you were telling the truth, much less without knowing what the bloody hell was going on... Merlin's balls, it's Hermione Granger—you don't fuck with her."

Of course, Draco understood Blaise perfectly. It didn't change the fact that in some small way, it still grated to know he hadn't been willing to stand up for him when it mattered. Not that he would ever admit it.

"No, you don't," Draco agreed, "Selwyn and Mulciber are proof of that."

"So's Nott, except he didn't get his arse handed to him by her like those other two idiots did. Instead, he skipped to the part where he languishes in Azkaban for a few years," Blaise said with a smirk.

Draco's mind diverged in a direction it had gone often lately. A warm feeling of pride filled his chest upon remembering just how effectively Granger had undone the two older Death Eaters. Even when she'd been beaten down, and even when the odds had seemed impossible, she'd maintained a cool enough head to take advantage of an opportunity when she'd seen one. Draco had developed an even deeper respect for her upon viewing Selwyn's memory of that night from McGonagall's office. Granger would have died if not for her fortitude and cunning.

It was a stark departure from his thoughts when he’d first seen her standing outside Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley what seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd looked so out of sorts then, weighed down by the gravity of her situation and whittled away by her plight. Yet he now knew that somewhere within that diminutive body she concealed considerable power along with the impressive mind she'd always been known for.

_You were born a fighter, Granger. And you fought for me._

"Look, mate," Blaise said with a sigh, "The point is, I'm with you now. Whatever my hesitations were before, they're gone. I've chosen a side, and it's definitely not with the Sons of Salazar, much as Pansy wishes it were otherwise. She can be her own bloody spy."

A flurry of questions formed in Draco's mind at Blaise's latest words, but a set of conclusions also formed from them. Having made up his mind, he went in for the kill.

"You've clearly known more than you let on during the past few weeks of school. How am I supposed to trust you now?" Draco asked slyly.

Blaise sighed, "I had no idea any of it was going to happen, you have to believe that."

Draco considered his words and compared them against what he knew about the friend sitting across from him. He finished the rest of his drink and stood to pour himself another. When he was done, he walked over to a small bureau by his bed and fished a small glass vial from within its top drawer. He walked back to their sitting area and held it out to Blaise casually.

"That's not enough. Tell it to me on truth serum," he demanded, holding Blaise's gaze.

Blaise gaped at him, "Have you gone mad? What for? Where did you even get this?!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, and with a mocking edge in his voice asked, "Don't you trust me?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed, clearly weighing his options, "What _for_?" he repeated obstinately with hard eyes.

"It saves me the trouble of having to invade your mind to ensure I'm not being had," Draco shrugged.

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Veritaserum? You realize how unreasonable you sound?”

"Take it or get out," Draco said simply, staring down at him dispassionately with an outstretched hand.

He could tell Blaise seriously considered leaving for a moment. However, he could also tell that Blaise's curiosity was now piqued too; immensely so. Draco just hoped Blaise was smart enough to read between the lines. He must have realized they hadn't reached the meat of the conversation yet. Draco had said little so far, and he’d done so on purpose.

Blaise's eyes narrowed, "Don't make me regret this, Draco. On Merlin..."

He briskly took the proffered vial and paused to give Draco a scathing glare, adding, “You’ve gone mental.”

Draco raised a brow, “Can you blame me?”

Blaise didn’t have an answer for him, so he uncorked the Veritaserum, drew out the dropper, and placed three drops on his tongue. Draco didn’t waste any time once he'd closed the stopper and handed the vial back.

“Tell me what you know about the Sons of Salazar.”

Blaise's response was immediate despite the mutinous look in his eyes, “It's a secret society that was formed last year as a contingency plan in case Voldemort was defeated. It includes fugitive Death Eaters, a handful of other Pureblood families, and around 10 Slytherin students including Nott, Montague, Warrington, and Burton. You weren't recruited because everyone sees you as a blood traitor and didn't expect you to survive the war.

"Their hit on Granger seems to have originally been planned as a hit on the Golden Trio before they realized Potter and Weasley chose not to come back this year. And before you ask, no, I still can't tell if Pansy's a member or not. She claimed she wanted me to join as an infiltrator. Nott recruited me the day before he asked you, and to buy myself some time I told him I'd think about it, but I had no intention of joining."

Draco cut in sharply, "He didn't _ask_ me."

Blaise's resentful expression slackened somewhat.

"I was never _asked_ to do anything," Draco spat with cold fury, enraged at the reminder that he only knew about his debasement second-hand. "I was _coerced_ , Blaise. I was _Imperio'd,_ tortured, and _Obliviated_ into being their stupid puppet. Don't you ever fucking forget it."

Blaise remained silent.

Draco took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to work past his anger to continue his impromptu interrogation.

"Why don't you want to join the Sons of Salazar?"

Blaise answered crisply, "Because I'm not a bloody sheep is why. If Voldemort wasn't able to get to me over the course of _years_ , then these amateur secret society sons of bitches certainly won't either. I'm better than that.

"What's more, I have nothing left to lose in this country, and barely anything left to lose on this continent. I may be many things—including an unapologetic elitist, but I'm not morally bankrupt. It's not socially advantageous right now," Blaise sniffed.

This came as no surprise to Draco, as he knew that the majority of Blaise's family had been driven out of Italy and the rest of Europe by Voldemort's followers during the second war. He also knew that Blaise had an ego the size of London. Still, it provided a semblance of comfort to hear these things confirmed under Veritaserum. One could never be sure, especially not now. At least _some_ things still held up after the rest of the school year seemed to be going to shite.

"What role do you really think Pansy's played in all this Sons of Salazar nonsense?" Draco asked.

"I'm not sure. Half the time I'm convinced she's just in over her head with Nott—a girlish crush taken too far under the guise of investigation... but the rest of the time I wonder if she's just that good of a manipulator. I wouldn't put it past her to be in on all of this somehow, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's just sleeping with Nott for shits and giggles either," Blaise answered, clearly miffed that he couldn't read Pansy even now, after so many years of friendship in the same House together.

It was much the same way Draco felt about Pansy these days. He was sure she was up to something—he just wasn't sure if that something was beneficial or detrimental to the Dark cause. Draco filed his mounting suspicions about her away for later and asked Blaise perhaps the most personal question of the night yet.

"Would you ever betray me, Blaise?"

Blaise answered unapologetically, "You have to know I would. If the trade-offs were stacked high enough against you and against my best interests, then yes I'd betray you in a heartbeat, mate. But you have to know I'd do the same to my own mother if push came to shove. Lucky for both of you I have yet to encounter any situation that would justify anything _near_ such a brutal cost-benefit analysis. We don't live in a world where I see that happening anytime soon."

Draco raised a brow, "Can't say I'm surprised. The feeling's mutual, by the way."

Blaise shrugged, "I would expect nothing less. By the way, I trust your intellectual faculties are intact enough to realize what I've implied by saying that. I had no idea you were going to be ambushed, and I would have told you if I'd known—if I'd had any hint that you were walking towards anything other than the type of conversation Nott had had with me the day before he attacked you. You have to believe that."

Done with this line of questioning for the moment, Draco considered Blaise's words silently before changing course, choosing to ignore the defense Blaise had presented, "Let's test that threshold for loyalty tonight, shall we Blaise?"

Blaise looked at him curiously.

"If given the chance, would you help to eliminate the Sons of Salazar?"

Thrown for a loop but still compelled to answer, Blaise cocked his head, still wearing a curious expression, "It would depend on a variety of factors, including what I stand to gain from it, but I would consider it. Why?"

Draco disregarded Blaise's question, "I'm asking the questions, Zabini. Why would you be willing to bring down the Sons of Salazar at all when I know you still believe in the pureblood ideology? What would you gain from it? You didn't even pick a side during the _war_."

Blaise answered, "The magical majority has spoken. Definitively. Just because I'd never go as low as marrying a blood traitor doesn't mean I can't read the room. I missed my chance to gain esteem at the end of the war like you did, but I've seen the good it's done you.

"Bringing down those inbred idiots wouldn't be a half bad consolation prize, much as I detest the thought of coming in second to you at anything. Might as well make a good name for myself if I plan to stay in magical Britain," Blaise added.

Draco chuckled dryly, "Slytherin to the core."

Blaise looked unconcerned, "Don't think I haven't noticed you doing the same. You're no better than I am. And yet both of us are sitting here cozy at Hogwarts while that idiot Nott is miserable in Azkaban until further notice. Clearly one of you had the right idea."

Satisfied with what he'd heard so far, even though he disagreed with Blaise's comparison of their motivations, Draco decided to place some trust in the wizard sitting across from him. He revealed what had been weighing on his mind all week.

"And yet that imbecile was only the tip of the iceberg. Much as it pleases me to see him imprisoned for the role he's played in all of this, the Sons of Salazar won't collapse just because three of their middling members are out of the picture. So I'm going to root the rest of the rot out of Hogwarts... with help," he added as an afterthought.

All remaining ire bled from Blaise's expression, only to be replaced by intrigue, "With whose help?"

"The Ministry's and my mother's," Draco responded bluntly.

Blaise looked taken aback.

"As of a few days ago, I'm a Ministry informant for the official Auror investigation into the Sons of Salazar," Draco said finally.

He could see a million questions forming behind Blaise's eyes.

"How the bloody hell did you come up with _that_ arrangement?" Blaise asked incredulously, clearly taken off guard.

Draco's gaze darkened, "To prove my innocence, I was interrogated repeatedly by Aurors after I turned myself in. Guess they mindfucked me enough to trust me now. I'm not surprised considering how deep those tossers got—it wasn't pretty. Granger's press conference didn't hurt either."

Blaise gave him a thoughtful look, seeming to know Draco was underplaying the agony such mental interrogation techniques must have caused him. He quickly came to the conclusion Draco had been waiting for him to arrive at.

"You want me to help you," Blaise said deadpan.

Draco shrugged, glad he hadn't had to ask outright, "You said you're no longer neutral."

Blaise shook his head, "Right, so you get me alone for a few drinks, add some Veritaserum to the mix, maybe a dash of emotional blackmail, and we end up here. Is that it? You want me to play sidekick while you pretend to be hero?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh please, we both know your sanctimony is a pathetic ruse, Blaise. Let's cut to the part where you tell me what the fuck you need to gain from this arrangement so we can nip this stupid pity party in the bud. What would it take to convince you to help take down the Sons of Salazar?"

Blaise's answer was immediate, and of course reliably honest, "I'd want legal immunity for any crimes I commit for the sake of the case. After the investigation, I'd want a statement from the Ministry celebrating my good name, along with positive media attention, invitations to the biggest society events, and maybe an award or two for good deeds and dashing good looks. Oh and a few thousand galleons wouldn't hurt."

"You don't ask for much, hmm?" Draco asked drolly, clearly unimpressed and unsurprised, "Lucky for you I know what a greedy bastard you are, which means that by extension, the Ministry knows now too. Surprise of all surprises, they're willing to humor an egotist like yourself if you're willing to make some concessions as well. Are you interested?"

There was the smallest hint of suspicion in Blaise's gaze, but curiosity and Veritaserum extinguished it upon hearing Draco's latest question.

"Yes, alright of course I'm interested. How could I not be? I'm half convinced it's a trap of its own, but you've sold me on the idea enough to pique my curiosity. I won't turn down a shortcut to a shiny new reputation when it's packaged nice and neat like this for me."

Draco smirked, "Excellent. In that case, go to the Hog's Head tomorrow morning around 8. Look for the blond wizard wearing a houndstooth cloak and green leather boots, and tell him _'transit umbra.'_ His name's Auror Prather, and he'll be waiting for you with a response of _'lux permanet.'_ If he doesn't say that exact phrase in return, don't trust him. If everything proceeds normally, then he'll be your main point of contact for the investigation aside from me."

Here Draco paused and said more seriously, "If you try to mess around in any way you'll be fucked, Blaise. Should you change your mind tomorrow just owl me, but know we'll be keeping an eye on you regardless."

Blaise shook his head, "Whatever. I still can't believe they're entrusting something like this to _you_ of all people. And by extension, to _me_."

"Do you plan to tell anyone anything we've spoken about tonight?" Draco asked, his tone doing nothing to mask the implied warning in his question.

Although the Veritaserum would wear off soon, Blaise was still compelled to answer truthfully.

"I had planned to mention it to my cousin Silas in my next letter to him, but that was before you dragged me into it. Beyond that, there's no one in Slytherin house I would want to tell—Pansy's out for obvious reasons. And I would never in a million years tell my mother anything. Theoretically, the only time I might divulge any of this is if I were trying to ingratiate myself further into certain social groups for the sake of the investigation."

Satisfied with what he'd heard, Draco nodded and responded, "Prather will brief you more on that last part tomorrow if you decide you're in. There are some... hoops you'll have to jump through to ensure your loyalty first."

Blaise's eyes narrowed, "Like what?"

Draco smirked, "That's for me to know, and you to find out, Zabini."

* * *

Hermione had found herself spending more time in the Gryffindor common room than ever since her talk with Malfoy last week. It was easier to avoid him (and thus her confusing emotions) this way, and the company of her housemates distracted her from the dark paths her mind would meander down if left untended.

Now that she was on a better regimen of potions to manage her psychological and physical symptoms thanks to Healer Donovan's revised prescription, all she wanted to do when she wasn't studying was crawl into bed and sleep the evenings away. However, Ginny had been adamant that one could only do that for so long, and Hermione felt inclined to agree.

They were both sprawled out near the fire where it was warmest in the room, each working on their respective assignments before dinner. They'd spent a girl's weekend with Luna pampering themselves and taking it easy, and it had done wonders for Hermione's state of mind and physical sense of ease. Although that good mood was flagging now that it was Tuesday night, she clung to the remnants of peace it had provided. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for her friend at the moment.

The redheaded witch was hunched over her Transfiguration textbook with a furrowed brow, clutching her quill within an inch of its life as she read and re-read the same paragraph over and over again. Hermione chuckled softly at the image Ginny painted in front of her.

"Take it easy, Gin, don't hurt yourself thinking too hard," she teased lightly.

Ginny's brow smoothed and she gave Hermione a sheepish grin, "Transfiguration I tell ya, never been my strong suit. Can't make heads or tails of it sometimes."

Hermione's grin turned sad, "For once, I really know what you mean."

Noticing the shift in mood, Ginny dropped her quill and sighed, "Don't beat yourself up over all of this, Hermione. Just try to be patient with yourself, you've been through a lot."

Hermione nodded dejectedly and decided to give up on her work for the moment. For the first time in her school career, she was barely on track with her studies instead of far ahead of them. It was an unfamiliar position to be in, and it only added to the anxiety that seemed to be her constant companion these days. Irrationally, it made her feel like a failure. Things she used to find easy seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort now.

These feelings of inadequacy were perhaps the most perplexing part of Hermione's recovery so far. Logically, she knew there was no reason to feel insecure about anything. If anything she knew she was probably taking things a little too quickly. Rationally speaking, she knew her recovery couldn't be rushed.

Her emotions were another story, though. They didn't care about things like reason or rationality, didn't care how many different ways Hermione framed the need to go easy on herself. Instead, they overwhelmed her constantly, vibrating with the ripples of pain that extended out from the night when she'd been robbed of her sense of safety and security. And in the center of it all was the yawning black hole where many of her best and happiest memories used to reside.

Hermione may have ultimately gotten the last laugh with Mulciber, but he'd wrought a considerable amount damage before she'd fought back. She was only now coming to terms with the broader implications of that destruction. It was hard to quantify what was no longer there, but Hermione suspected anywhere from a quarter to a third of her happiest memories had been annihilated in Mulciber's mental assault. She still felt mostly numb about it.

Her Mind Healer had recommended she take a little more time off, but Hermione had shuddered at the thought of having so much free time to ruminate on her circumstances. Yet the insecurity trailed after her through the school hallways, taunting her every time she failed to answer a question in class or forgot something she'd learned just the other day.

_I feel stupid._

For someone who took pride in her mental prowess, it was extremely discouraging, but it was also humbling. Academic performance and intelligence had long been the only metrics Hermione had used to measure her self-worth, but the war had shown her there was so much more to value about herself than her intellect. Still, she'd learned that lesson under extenuating circumstances. It was harder to keep it in mind now that she wasn't on the run, now that she was supposed to be leading a normal life—whatever _that_ meant.

However, as ridiculous as it sounded, Hermione was determined to find a silver lining to her situation. If that silver lining came in the form of developing a better sense of self-worth so that hers wasn't overly predicated on academic performance, then so be it.

_I'm more than my grades._

Although her internal affirmations lacked conviction, they were something she could work with, and quite frankly she could use all the help she could get right now.

Ginny's voice snapped her out of her musings, and deciding they were both done battling with their homework for the night, they decided to head down to the Great Hall. Hermione gathered her things and they proceeded to make their way down to dinner together.

Surrounded by the quotidian sounds of students gossiping and griping about their school day, Hermione focused on remaining present throughout dinner by engaging with the ebb and flow of the various conversations that took place around her. She had taken to lightly flicking her arm to re-center herself every time she felt her mind taking her out of the present moment. It was a technique Healer Donovan had shown her earlier in the day during what had been their second ever therapy session.

Despite the deceptively simple nature of some of the coping strategies Healer Donovan had shown her earlier during their appointment, Hermione already felt some small measure of improvement, even after only a few hours back at Hogwarts. It felt empowering to regain some modicum of control over her life again, but it wasn't easy work. In fact, it felt like she was expending an inordinate amount of energy just to keep up with the bare minimum of daily life.

_Well, that's to be expected, isn't it? It's not every day you get ambushed by extremists,_ she thought wryly, _One doesn't exactly bounce back from that immediately._

Having eaten as much as she could stomach for the night, Hermione bid Ginny and the rest of her Gryffindor friends farewell, and heaved herself up with a sigh. She tried to ignore the many sets of eyes that surreptitiously followed her as she made her way out of the Great Hall. The attention on her had been at an all-time high when she'd returned to Hogwarts after the attack, and it was only just beginning to abate. Quite frankly though, _any_ amount of attention felt disconcerting right now.

Lost in thought, Hermione started when she heard a familiar voice call her name from a few meters behind her as she began climbing the first set of stairs back to the Heads' quarters.

"Granger, mind if I walk back with you?"

Hermione stopped and looked behind her curiously, surprised to find Malfoy jogging lightly to catch up with her.

"Er, sure. I suppose that would be alright," she responded awkwardly, her left foot frozen in the air.

It only took a few moments for him to reach her side before they wordlessly began their winding ascent up the various staircases and down the myriad hallways that led back to their rooms. Hermione kept stealing furtive glances at him, unwilling to admit to herself just how confused she was.

_What's he playing at?_

Seeming to sense her silent question, Malfoy spoke casually while shifting his gaze towards hers, "I see you've joined the world of the living again this week. Obviously I'm delighted to know my extremities will live to see another day unbroken."

She snorted lightly despite herself, "Well look at that. Who knew you have three _humerus_ bones in your body."

Malfoy stopped short and turned to face her completely, a cross between mild disgust and incredulity crossing his face.

"A pun, Granger? _Really?_ You have a terrible sense of humor. Simply terrible."

Unable to help herself, she smiled slightly and shrugged, "Malfoy, I didn't even realize you possessed the capacity for humor, so let's call it even, shall we?"

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed but remained silent for the next few minutes as they continued walking, until they'd reached the hallway leading to the portrait guarding their quarters.

Once inside, Malfoy made a beeline for the largest sofa in their common room, while Hermione walked over to Crookshanks' nook to check his water bowl. When she was finished, she glanced over at Malfoy where he lay sprawled out in front of a newly roaring fire. She considered sitting with him and continuing the conversation they'd started a few nights ago. On second thought, she shook her head and decided she didn't have the energy for it tonight.

She made her way towards her bedroom, and right as her hand had reached out to grasp the doorknob, Malfoy spoke up from behind her.

"Granger," he cleared his throat as she turned turned to face him wearing a curious expression. Was that a sliver of nervousness in his voice?

He pushed himself up to peer at her over the back of the sofa, "Look, I know you can take care of yourself just fine—you've more than proved that, but... I don't think it's a good idea for you to be wandering the school alone at night. Not right now, anyway."

In another time and place, Hermione might have been more offended at the implication of his words. Perhaps in an alternate universe, she would have been indignant, self-righteous, or self-assured enough to dismiss his suggestion that she needed anyone to help fight her battles.

Yet in _this_ time and place, the world had shown Hermione that it cared little for her sanctimony, and even less for her bravery. She stopped to consider what Malfoy was saying, and what he _wasn't_ saying. He'd worded his message as advice, as a suggestion—a gentle warning as opposed to a sinister threat, and an offer of help, too.

She cocked her head to the side as she considered his words. She assumed it was why he'd scrambled to catch up with her tonight—he didn't want her to walk back to their rooms alone. All things considered, it made sense. If anything, Hermione was surprised at her lack of indignance. Then again, she felt more emotionally unstable than ever before in her life, so perhaps it wasn't all that strange that her emotions even at the meta-emotional level were off-kilter. But she couldn't completely let it go.

Malfoy continued speaking, this time in a more stilted manner, "If you'd like... that is, if you're interested... I wouldn't mind walking you back to our rooms after dinner anytime you need it."

_What, so you can ambush me again?!_

Hermione was surprised at her inner outburst. She hadn't realized just how much resentment she still held towards Malfoy. Although her feelings were understandable, they felt at odds with the parts of herself that wanted to give Malfoy a chance after all. Lately the latter seemed to outweigh the former, as illogical as that seemed.

She responded pointedly, "Shouldn't the offer go both ways, Malfoy? You were just as much a damsel in distress as I was when it came down to it."

She was half-serious and half pointing out the sexist assumption he'd made.

A slow smirk spread across Malfoy's face, "Sure it can go both ways, Granger. As long as we walk back here together, you can call it whatever you want."

She nearly choked on her next words.

_Just take the help,_ she gritted to herself.

"f we do happen to be at dinner at the same time, I'd certainly appreciate that," she said hesitantly, adding, "I'd say the same for you, of course. I'm not the only one who needs to watch my back—you have just as much a need to remain vigilant as I do. If you ever want company walking anywhere in Hogwarts at night just let me know."

What she didn't voice were the other retorts that arose in her mind at the veiled implication in his words, nor did she mention the sundry exceptions she planned to make in the process. She understood that Malfoy had good intentions, but she took exception to the idea that her life was somehow more valuable than that of any other student who might escort her back to her dorms late at night. She was Head Girl for Merlin's sake, and she could take care of herself just fine. If anything _she_ was the one who should be escorting other students back to their rooms, not the other way around.

As per usual though, she was too tired to further argue any of these points tonight.

Malfoy's shoulders seemed to relax in relief at her response, and his head fell back to the sofa.

"It's settled, then," he responded simply, sounding slightly muffled amidst the cushions. Despite that, she could tell he sounded as if he hadn't been sure if she'd trust him enough to agree—as if he'd been expecting more of a fight.

Feeling too tired to spend any more time contemplating Malfoy's behavior and her oddly trusting disposition tonight, Hermione bid him goodnight and headed into her room.

She changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and took her dose of potions in a daze. Healer Donovan had helped her adjust both her dosage and sourcing for her potions regimen during their correspondence in the days before today's appointment, and it had done wonders. Hermione now looked forward to getting some rest again. She knew she'd still need to take breaks occasionally, but it felt amazing to get even 5 solid hours of sleep after she'd spent so much time tossing and turning.

That night, as her eyes drifted shut, Hermione saw Draco in her mind's eye, the vision of him hazy on the threshold that separated sleep from wakefulness. For the first time ever, the sight of his visage in her sleep-suffused thoughts felt comforting instead of threatening.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains descriptions of sexual situations. If that type of content potentially bothers you, then I recommend you read the sanitized version or skip this chapter altogether. Feel free to reach out to me for a sanitized chapter, or visit my website at c0nfiguration dot space to find the sanitized version of the chapter on my website.

Lucid dreaming was an activity Hermione had enjoyed for as long as she could remember. Amidst the exhilarating dreams she'd have as a child of rollercoasters, fantastic sci-fi adventures, and flying, she would also have dreams in which she could wield conscious control over her surroundings, and even over the dream itself.

Playing within these lucid dreams had been a favorite pastime of hers, back before she'd been properly introduced to magic, and long before her life had taken multiple morbid detours. Although Hermione had dreamt lucidly a handful of times throughout the years since she'd become a student at Hogwarts and learned to control her magic, they were nowhere near as frequent as when she'd been much younger. Some part of her had missed them, but she'd had little time to think on the loss amidst the chaos her life had grown into over the past few years.

It was only this prior knowledge that prepared Hermione for the dream she found herself within on this night. And it _was_ a dream, could only _be_ a dream. The preternaturally hazy edges, shimmering soft atmosphere, and heady anticipation were indications enough that something was off. No, this was definitely not waking reality. In fact, she'd just been transported into a naked version of herself who seemed to be at the height of arousal.

That was of course most likely due to the long fingers that were gently caressing the sides of her arms, then making their way up her shoulders, tickling up her neck, and then trailing languidly all the way back, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. Hermione didn't know when or where the fire burning brightly in her core had been lit, but those careful hands ignited sparks of lust that were fizzing along her skin, leaving her aching for more kindling.

With a half-lidded gaze she watched those nimble hands journey up and down her body from her relaxed position on a large, plush bed amidst a tangle of sheets and pillows. She already knew who those hands belonged to although she had yet to see his face in this astral realm. She'd recognize those pale fingers anywhere.

The last time she'd awoken to Malfoy's gentle caresses in their common room, she'd felt nothing but fear and dread at his ministrations—for good reason. This time, those negative feelings were nowhere to be found, her waking responses obfuscated by the mechanics of dreams. Paradoxically, the hands of the wizard who’d given her hell for so many years made her feel safe in this ephemeral time and place. Desire and arousal were the only feelings she had room for presently, and they were both coursing like electricity up and down her spine, spilling over her limbs only to coalesce in a pool of molten heat low in her belly.

A tousled head of platinum blonde hair moved into her line of sight, the silken strands hanging down to conceal all but a pair of firm lips Hermione had never before had good reason to appreciate. Her breath hitched when that soft pair of lips began to drop featherlight kisses on her left breast. When they began to suckle on its peak she lifted one hand to cradle Draco's head there, cognizant of only one thing—she wanted _more,_ past history be damned.

She would never admit it to anyone, but some part of her had been intrigued by Malfoy throughout the years. Hers had been less of a romantic curiosity, and more of the magnetic intrigue that dark and terrible things inspire, simply for being aberrations. At one point in his life, Malfoy had been both of those things—unapologetically dark, and vindictively terrible. But in this dream, and even in waking life, she could reaffirm that she no longer thought of him in that way... for the most part. All that remained of her intrigue in this dream was a desire to know him better.

Deciding to explore in this astral realm what she didn't think had a doxy's chance in hell of happening in real life, Hermione arched into Draco's touch, allowing the arousal swirling in her limbs to take over all rational thought. She focused on the wet swirling of his tongue, on the whispering caresses against her flanks that promised higher peaks of pleasure as she writhed on the sheets beneath him.

At length, he pulled his lips away, moving to her other breast to kiss and lick at it while gently teasing the other with deft fingers. Hermione moaned at the change in tactics, her body undulating in response to the electric sensations his touch awoke in her. By now she was massaging and pulling at his hair in desperation, mewling at every flick of his tongue and fingers.

He began to work his way lower down her body, licking and kissing his way down her heaving torso, leaving a trail of sparks in his wake as his hair tickled her skin in the most delicious way. By the time he made his way down to her hips, Hermione was lost to the promise of pleasure in Draco's soft touch, spreading her legs wider in invitation. At this, he paused to glance up at her with a satisfied smirk, his disheveled blonde locks doing nothing to conceal the anticipation and hunger in his gaze.

The message in his expression was clear.

_I could devour you._

His hands slid down from her hips, thumbs caressing her golden skin in lazy circles until they reached the soft planes of her inner thighs. They paused to tickle the skin there before his palms flattened to push her legs open wider.

Their eye contact was broken as he dove down to kiss her stomach, trailing his lips lower until they'd progressed to her glistening center. Hermione bucked under his touch as brief licks and kisses turned into gentle sucking motions. Draco teased her there for a few moments, driving her crazy until she was bucking and whimpering at every puff of breath along her sensitive skin.

"Mhmmm... Dra–" she whimpered, cutting off abruptly with a long moan when he dragged his tongue up her slit, stopping to swirl it lazily around her nub in tight little circles until she lost herself in the the way his mouth spoke to her.

Some remote part of her marveled at the surreal scene before her, dream or not. Her former bully kneeling before her sprawled form, worshipping and voraciously tasting her as she squirmed beneath him with utter abandon. It should have disconcerted her, but something about the thought of a reformed Malfoy only spurred her to further heights of desire.

That she could even imagine this about a wizard once so hopelessly entrenched in darkness could only mean that even the deeper parts of her psyche had begun to consider that he wasn't a complete threat to her anymore. And that she could even _allow_ _herself_ to imagine it in the first place meant that some part of her was well and truly warming up to him despite it all.

_Merlin help me._

He raised his head languidly after a minute or two, licking his glistening lips open in a smug grin and meeting her heated gaze with molten silver eyes. His thumbs resumed tracing their languorous patterns along the sensitized skin of her inner thighs.

"D–don't stop, gods please don't stop," she pleaded, pushing her hips up towards him in a wanton display of longing, uncaring of how desperate it may have seemed.

His self-satisfied grin widened as his gaze darkened further and he brushed his hair aside, "Ask and you shall receive, love. Eyes on me."

This time when his tongue traced her core, his gaze remained locked on hers as she struggled to keep her eyes open amidst the flood of pleasure he was unleashing upon her. As if knowing how difficult it was for her to maintain eye contact amidst his ministrations, Draco worked his way back up to her nub and began to suckle on it in earnest.

Hermione nearly screamed at the onslaught of pleasure this caused. She pushed her hips towards him and ground her core against his questing mouth, her hand snaking down towards the nape of his neck to tangle in his hair and urge him ever closer. Less than a minute later she was on the edge of a precipice of pleasure the likes of which she'd never experienced before. Drunk with lust and struggling to hold his gaze, she pleaded with him to make her come undone.

His gaze dark with arousal, Draco obliged, snaking a single long digit into her core as he continued suckling on her nub. He pumped his finger a few times as he worshipped her with his tongue, and that was all it took to make Hermione's world explode with a burst of energy that swept away all thought in an intense wash of burning pleasure.

She cried out in ecstasy, and it was all he could do to steady her trembling body as she rode wave after sweet wave of pleasure. Her vision went white with information overload, and after a few seconds the sultry scene along with the feeling of Draco all around her disappeared in a nebulous haze.

In a disorienting change of scenery, she awoke in her bed at Hogwarts with the ghost of pleasure coursing through her body and slick wetness coating her inner thighs. Still on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness, Hermione reached down and slipped her hand past her nightwear, imagining she was back in that surreal dream with Malfoy as he whetted his appetite with the proof of her pleasure.

It took less than a minute. For the second time that morning, Hermione came undone at the thought of Draco's hooded grey eyes boring into her own, imagining his lips slick with her cream the way they'd been only moments before in her dreams.

She lay in a daze processing what she'd woken up to. It was the most unusual thing her mind had concocted lately, but she wasn't exactly complaining. The lingering pleasure still coursing through her system was proof enough that there were benefits to waking up like this. The aches and twitches that had settled in over the past week had given way to a languid relaxation that left her feeling boneless amidst the tangle of her sheets and books this morning.

She'd fallen asleep last night while reading her Transfiguration textbook, and had forgotten to take her dose of Dreamless Sleep. It was Thursday now, and in the days since Healer Donovan had revised her potions regimen yet again at their most recent appointment, Hermione had certainly noticed an improvement compared to the previous three or four weeks. If she'd had nightmares at all last night, she couldn't remember any of them. She supposed there were worse ways to awaken than a lucid, consensual sexual dream encounter, all things considered.

Still, some part of her wanted to feel disgusted, not only with the contents of the dream, but with herself for desiring Malfoy in _that_ capacity. Just what kind of pathetic witch was she anyway, to be lusting after someone who'd been so terrible to her for so long?

He may have turned over a new leaf, but he was still leagues away from being someone she would ever consider completely reformed, much less someone worthy of her sexual desire or affection. Not that she could exactly control those desires, as last night's dream had shown her—nor did it seem that she _wanted_ to at some subconscious level.

As she lounged in bed watching the pre-dawn darkness recede across the still waking landscape, the indignant and suspicious parts of her debated with her forgiving and caring predispositions. Sure, she'd defended Malfoy—spoken up for him at a time when few magical folk would, and probably saved his life from being totally ruined. But that didn't mean she wanted to run off and marry the bloke! One act of kindness didn't equate to a declaration of love for Merlin's sake!

And while she could objectively acknowledge that Malfoy possessed a cold, sharp beauty that intimidated as much as it attracted, he wasn't her type, or at least she hadn't thought so. There were plenty kinds of beauty out there, and until last night, she hadn't thought Malfoy's flavor of physical attractiveness and personality would ever appeal to her. Hermione was warmth and light, love and caring, and she'd only ever been looking for reciprocal qualities in potential suitors and bedmates.

_Malfoy is the antithesis of everything I'm attracted to_ , Hermione thought to herself resolutely. _I can want to be his friend and colleague without wanting to get into his pants!_

With that resolution made, and prepared to put her heady yet disconcerting dream behind her, Hermione dragged herself out of bed and headed to her bathroom to prepare for the school day ahead, all the while trying to push thoughts of Malfoy and his sinful mouth firmly to the back of her mind. Hogwarts was now in its seventh week in session, and despite the extremely rough start to the year, she was beginning to find some semblance of a tenuous daily rhythm again.

Finished with her daily morning routine in the bathroom, she pulled her hair into a messy topknot and donned her uniform. She emerged from her quarters in a distracted flurry only to stop short at the sight of Malfoy passed out on the sofa in their common room. Crookshanks was snoring softly from his position curled on the sleeping wizard's stomach.

_Malfoy must have fallen asleep in front of the fire again last night. I'm surprised Crooks kept him company the whole time._

She was momentarily distracted by the sight of Malfoy looking so utterly vulnerable and relaxed after the dream she'd awoken from just a few minutes ago. Juxtaposed with the sultry version of him she'd seen overnight, it was difficult in that moment to remember that he was someone who'd committed fearsome acts, someone she would do well to remain cautious around.

And yet seeing him like this, with his unguarded sleeping visage illuminated only by the spreading pre-dawn light, she couldn't help but find him handsome. The wariness, the resentment, and the anger towards him were still there, lurking somewhere in her psyche, pulsing at the edges of her mind with a dull roar. But in this moment, they'd been muted by the version of Malfoy that lay before her. It felt as if this was her first time laying eyes on him _again_.

_Can't say I mind the view,_ she mused absentmindedly as a wave of honeyed heat surged through her.

Shaking herself out of such a dangerous train of thought, she shifted her attention to note the drool that had collected by Crookshanks' mouth, clearly visible against Malfoy's white shirt. She snorted quietly. It wasn't the first time Malfoy had fallen asleep like this, but it was certainly the first time Crookshanks had been brave enough to think he could get away with using the notoriously churlish wizard as his personal cushion. Apparently her pet had been right this time.

Not wanting to wake them, and hoping Malfoy had had the presence of mind to set an alarm of some sort for himself, Hermione tiptoed past the sleeping pair and went about quietly pouring Crookshanks his breakfast. Quite honestly, she was floored that the soft tinkling of food hitting his food bowl hadn't been enough to wake the slumbering beast. Usually the promise of food was all it took for Crooks to become wide awake and alert.

Finished with her morning tasks, she made her way into the corridor outside their quarters, all the while trying to make the least amount of noise possible. She paused before closing the portrait behind her, smiling softly at the picture both wizard and feline painted in their slumber.

_Malfoy_ would _befriend my cat after spending weeks complaining about him,_ she mused as she made her way down to the Great Hall.

Her walk to breakfast was uneventful, which was to be expected at 7 in the morning, a time when most other students would rather still be in bed. It was precisely why she liked this time of day. There were fewer prying eyes watching her, waiting to see if she'd stumble or break under the weight of her circumstances. She also felt less vulnerable while roaming the halls alone during the early morning hours compared to late at night.

It was all to be expected, but Hermione was tired of the attention. It had been bad enough when she'd first arrived at school, but now every glance and whisper about her was tinged with something worse—pity. She loathed the thought of others feeling sorry for her, and wished she could show them just how much of a force to be reckoned with she was.

_Selwyn and Mulciber certainly won't forget anytime soon,_ she thought with grim satisfaction.

She made her way to the Gryffindor table, where only two of her fellow upperclassmen were quietly reading the morning paper while breaking their fast. Thankfully they left her to her own devices, and she was once again reminded of why she preferred taking the early bird approach to her days—people left her alone.

It was while she was focusing on finishing her bowl of oatmeal and catching up on some reading that the letter came. It was unusual enough to receive one so early in the morning before the usual mass delivery of Hogwarts mail, but it was the wax crest on the message that caught her eye. The hardened emerald green seal of glittering wax featured a script version of the letter 'P' intertwined with a serpent eating its own tail—an Ouroboros.

Intrigued, Hermione scanned the parchment with her wand for any malicious surprises, and upon finding none, she carefully rolled it open to read its contents. To say she was surprised at the perfectly written calligraphic words she found within would be an understatement.

> _"I know something you don't know! Your fellow Head Boy is up to something, but is it naughty or nice? Meet me at the boathouses today during second hour to find out." — Pansy_

Hermione stared at the message in disbelief for a few seconds before she rolled it up carefully and set it down next to her bowl.

_What in Merlin's name does Parkinson think she's pulling? Did Pansy even_ send _this?_

Feeling completely thrown, Hermione stared down at her half-eaten breakfast, lost in thought as she ran through the various reasons why Parkinson (or someone impersonating her) might have sent it.

_Well, it isn't outright insulting. That's a first for her,_ she mused, wondering if she'd ever had an interaction with Pansy that hadn't involved denigration of some sort. That alone was cause for alarm. The notorious Slytherin clearly must want something from her, but could she be trying to lure her into another trap? Could someone else be doing it in her stead? So soon after the first attack?

She considered simply ignoring the message, but her sense of curiosity was far too strong to be overruled this time. What if Malfoy _was_ up to something? She thought back to his sleeping visage from just a few minutes ago. Whether it was nefarious or altruistic, it could still potentially land him in Azkaban.

_Is that idiot_ trying _to throw his life away?!_ Hermione fumed to herself, _And if so, why the bloody hell do I care?! I'm not his keeper._

Driven by her frustration and curiosity, yet unwilling to put herself in such a risky situation on her own, she mulled over what to do as she aimlessly stirred her oatmeal and stared off into space. The sound of cutlery against plates and sparse conversation around her faded into the background. While it would be ludicrous of her to consider going to meet Pansy by herself, she wasn't sure whose help to seek.

A majority of her fellow 8th years had a free period during second hour, but being a 7th year and a Quidditch captain, Ginny had a slightly different schedule. Hermione didn't want to ask her friend to skip class just to satisfy a spot of curiosity, nor did she want to worry Ginny if Pansy's taunting letter amounted to nothing.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Neville sat down across from her, smiling and greeting her with, "Morning, Hermione. It's not often we catch each other during breakfast. How are you?"

Blinking a few times to let her thoughts catch up with external reality, Hermione smiled slowly as she returned his greeting and cocked her head to the side, giving him a thoughtful look, "Morning Neville, good to see you. I'm doing fine this morning. How about you?"

_Of course! Neville might be able to help me! He's more than capable considering what he did during the war. I would trust him with my life..._

For the first time this year she was thankful someone had approached her during her early morning breakfast ritual after all.

Neville replied to her greeting while heaping eggs, sausage and toast onto his plate, "Can't complain, we're one day closer to the weekend! I'm looking forward to finally getting Doris Lapham's latest delivered in the mail tomorrow. I pre-ordered it ages ago from Flourish & Blotts."

His smile turned quizzical after a few silent seconds during which Hermione continued to stare at him, clearly not having paid complete attention to what he said.

"Erm, is there something on your mind?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Hermione responded slowly, the thoughtful expression still on her face.

She looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear her before she leaned forward and said quietly, "You see Neville, I find myself in a bit of a predicament, one in which I'd appreciate having some backup—the type Dumbledore's Army once provided."

Neville looked utterly intrigued and leaned in, "Go on."

She wordlessly handed the small scroll of parchment to him, and watched as he unrolled it and read its contents. His hazel eyes narrowed briefly, his index finger tapping lightly against the table as he processed what he'd read.

Raising his eyes, he asked, "I'm sure you've already considered this could be a trap... is this worth that potential outcome?"

He gestured at the note as he spoke.

Hermione sighed, and looked down briefly before meeting his gaze again, "What I went through... the people who did it... it was the tip of the iceberg, Neville. I'd be stupid to think that very same hatred doesn't go any deeper than a surface level at Hogwarts. Something—”

She struggled to speak for a moment, a well of unexpectedly strong emotion crawling up her throat at the reminder. Neville remained silent, waiting for her to finish.

After a few moments, she continued, “Something tells me this might help me begin to tease the answer out, or at least part of it. Whether Parkinson's hostile or cordial, aggressive or pacified, entreating or warning today... she clearly wants to communicate something to me, and I'm curious enough to hear what it is. If it even _is_ Pansy who's behind that message. **It's a chance I'm willing to take, but only if I have help, and only because it's happening in broad daylight."

She gave him a meaningful look, "So what do you think?"

Neville was quiet for a few moments, taking a few bites of food as he considered her proposition. At length, he answered, "I'm suppose I'm in, but I have questions."

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and gave him a relieved smile. It wasn't just that he'd accepted her request for help—something she still found hard to ask for. It also just felt good to have someone in her corner like this. She wasn't sure how she'd forgotten the feeling so quickly after the war, but the special camaraderie she felt in this moment added to the warmth that her dream had already suffused her day with.

It was only now that the full effects of Harry’s and Ron’s absence this year became apparent to her. She missed them so much. Her eyes became misty as she remembered the time they’d spend together during her recovery last week. Some part of her admitted that she could be doing this to chase the memory of that friendship, but she shook it off. Even if it were true, she was still motivated by a higher purpose—a desire for justice.

Realistically, she doubted she'd be able to trust a single word Pansy planned to tell her during their meeting, but Hermione didn't intend to take any of what she said at face value. She was more interested in seeing just how Parkinson planned to manipulate her into doing what she wanted. Hermione didn't exactly have a high regard for Pansy's intellectual faculties, and perhaps arrogantly felt she'd be able to handle whatever mind games the Slytherin might try to play.

The two Gryffindors finished their breakfast while discussing Neville's questions, along with the finer details and plan for their upcoming rendezvous. They made their way to their first class of the day, and all the while Hermione buzzed with a confluence of trepidation and curiosity tickling her insides at the thought that she might finally begin to get answers to questions she hadn't even realized she wanted to ask.

It was more difficult than ever to concentrate in Muggle Studies during first hour, and Hermione briefly wished she'd opted out of taking the class. However, she knew this was only her impatience and anticipation speaking. For her, Muggle Studies was more a class about how wizards tended to perceive muggles, rather than a class about muggles per se. Having felt like an observer and an outsider in magical society for so long, it was a subject she found fascinating because paradoxically, it did more to help her learn about the mindset of many magical folk than it taught her about muggles.

Today however, she had no room in her mind for her usual amusement and interest in this class. All she could think about was the stupidity of what she intended to do this morning. And it _was_ stupid. At this rate, she might as well paint a target on herself for all the care she seemed to be taking to ensure her safety, even with Neville's help. But the desire to do more than act like a sitting duck was too strong of a compulsion.

Hermione knew there had to be an investigation underway into the attack by the Sons of Salazar. Yet aside from the night when she'd arrived and spoken with the Headmistress, there had been no updates forthcoming from the Ministry, nor from McGonagall about the status of the investigation.

She supposed it made sense—as someone who'd been attacked, she was probably one of the last people the Ministry and McGonagall would want to place the burden of an investigation upon now that they had her official statement and memories. Although it irked to be viewed as fragile in that way, it was probably a good thing that she hadn't been automatically expected to help, but it didn't mean she didn't want to.

She _should_ be spending her time recovering by relaxing and focusing on graduation while letting other people do the dirty work. Yet the thought continued to nag her, and it wasn't like she didn't have a colorful history of occasionally misplaced restlessness and heroism to draw from. Despite how dangerous she knew her involvement in _any_ investigation could be, it stung to know she wasn't a part of any of it, especially considering her potential utility in this situation.

_I'm as good as bait now,_ Hermione thought to herself morbidly. _If the Ministry won't take advantage of that, then I might as well use it to draw some roaches out from the shadows myself._

At fifteen to the hour, Professor Weatherly released the 7th and 8th year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students in Hermione's class for second period. Rigidly, she rose from her seat, gathered her things while bidding Ginny a stiff goodbye, and made her way out of the classroom and into the nearest bathroom to collect herself before she embarked on what could potentially be a terrible idea.

She and Neville had agreed that they wouldn't walk down to the boathouses together. In fact, based on the plan they'd cobbled together during breakfast, right about now he should be making his way across the castle and down to the courtyard to hide by the stairs that led to the dock. He'd suggested it as his starting position to ensure Hermione wasn't being followed as she made her way down to meet Pansy—or whoever had thought to impersonate her.

After taking a moment to splash some water onto her face and dry herself off, Hermione steeled herself and slowly began to make her way across the castle towards the Great Hall and the courtyard that faced the docks from on high. A few minutes later she was staring at the first of a few sets of wooden staircases that led down to the docks. No one seemed to be in her general vicinity, which was just as well because it had to mean Neville had found a good spot from which to observe and follow at a distance, undetected.

Carefully, she made her way down the steps at a sedate pace while her stomach twisted into knots of anxiety, senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, for any hint that she should signal to Neville that she needed his help. So far so good, but experience had now shown her it never paid to let down one's guard. Constant vigilance indeed. She kept her wand gripped tightly at the ready in her right hand, the slender piece of vine wood concealed under the sleeve of her robes.

It wasn't until she reached the second to last set of steps that she saw the figure cast in shadow standing at the far end of the boathouse. Hermione hesitated for a split-second, momentarily overtaken by the very real fear that she could be stupidly walking into something she and Neville were wholly unprepared to handle. Briefly, she flashed back to being sprawled on the ground, gazing fearfully up at the faces of four wizards who wanted nothing more than to make her suffer, and shuddered.

_Am I so daft that I'd put myself in danger of experiencing that again? What is_ wrong _with me?!_

And yet, she knew what it was that was motivating her to behave so recklessly. A perfect storm of restlessness, helplessness, frustration and anger had coalesced into a raging tempest within her over the past few days—one that was only further fueled by her desire to ensure that whatever presence the Sons of Salazar had claimed at Hogwarts would be wiped away for good. Although some small part of her could also admit that she was driven by a desire for vindication, she mostly wanted to make sure _no one_ else at Hogwarts would have to experience what she and Draco had faced a few weeks ago, an what she and other muggleborns had faced for many years.

This reminder strengthened her resolve to push ahead despite her moment of hesitation, and so she treaded lightly down the remaining few steps, her attention split between her surroundings and the figure that had indeed begun to resemble Parkinson the closer she got.

The gentle sound of waves lapping against the dock added a deceptively calming dimension to what was otherwise a tense moment. As Hermione stepped into the boathouse, one of the floorboards squeaked, and she saw Pansy’s head snap towards her.

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed upon noticing her approach, and Pansy called out with a taunt, "I'm surprised to see you here, Granger, didn't think you'd have it in you to show up. Thought maybe you'd be too busy reveling in your victimhood to make time for little old me."

Hermione ground her teeth in a brief burst of frustration, but quickly moved past it when a feeling of relief doused a good portion of the anxiety that had curled in her gut. _This_ was the Pansy she'd been expecting—the nasty spoiled brat who couldn't go a few minutes without insulting someone. She knew she couldn't let her guard down, but _this_ she knew how to handle.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione decided to get straight to the point as she came to a stop a few feet away from her schoolmate after scanning the interior of the boathouse for any unwelcome surprises. She made sure to keep a wall behind her so as not to be caught unawares.

"Sticks and stones, Parkinson. You should see what happened to the last few idiots who thought to cross me. What is this all about?"

Pansy sneered, "You act so high and mighty, but those idiots made you grovel after all, didn't they? You may have one-upped them, but it was only after they'd taken their pound of flesh from you—isn't that right, mudblood?"

Hermione's senses were overloaded by the conflagration of rage that tore through her body from one second to the next. Just how much did Pansy know about what had happened to her that night? Had Nott retreated to the Slytherin common room to gloat after all had been said and done, before he'd been apprehended? Did everyone in Slytherin know the gory details about what had been done to her, and what she'd done to fight back? The thought sickened her, but she bit down on the vitriol that threatened to pour out of her mouth, and instead honed the brightest parts of her anger into something useful.

Her gaze became heated with the bright glint of that fire, and in a steely voice she said, "I suppose that's a foreign concept for a coward like you who's never lifted a finger nor sacrificed a thing to stand up for what you believe in either way. Isn't that right, _Parkinson?_ "

Pansy's nostrils flared in anger, and Hermione felt pleased to know her words had struck a chord. She briskly interrupted whatever cutting response the Slytherin had begun to formulate, "Now tell me _what the hell you want_ before I decide you're not worth my time."

Clearly wanting to have the last word before moving on, Pansy muttered, "That's rich coming from a mudblood bitch like you."

Hermione remained silent, not interested in taking the admittedly weak bait only to extend the amount of time she'd have to spend in Parkinson's presence. The Slytherin seemed to lose a modicum of her bravado when Hermione chose not to respond, and with a sigh, she looked down at the dark, gently lapping water that filled the center of the boathouse.

"For reasons I cannot even _begin_ to fathom, you've shown that in some way, you seem to care about what happens to Draco," Pansy ground out, sounding bothered by the prospect.

She paused to see if Hermione would react, but the Gryffindor's face remained impassive, so she continued, "If that's true in _any_ way, then you should care about what he's been spending his nights doing lately."

Hermione's brows rose, "Why in Merlin's name would I care about what _Malfoy_ gets up to in his free time?"

Pansy's response held a warning edge, "Because if he's not careful, he's going to end up in the same bloody situation you just fished him out of. Or worse."

Worry began to creep past the periphery of Hermione's emotions. She was reminded of his warning from a few nights ago, when he'd offered to walk her back to their quarters after dinner.

_What has that idiot gone and done now? And once again,_ why _should any of this be_ my _problem?!_

Amidst the worry, a question occurred to Hermione, "Be that as it may—why don't _you_ confront him about it then? Why should I do your dirty work for you? He's _your_ friend, not mine."

She'd expected a sneer at the very least, but Pansy's reaction surprised her. The Slytherin's aquamarine gaze cut down to the water's edge once again, and she seemed to deflate a little further.

"I—suffice it to say that I just can't right now. And even if I could, Draco won't believe a word that comes out of my mouth these days," she responded sullenly.

Hermione considered Pansy's words, evaluated what the Slytherin was and wasn't saying, and realized just how vulnerable her classmate was making herself right now. It could be a ruse, part of a greater manipulation, but even so Hermione detected sincerity in Pansy's words.

After a long pause, Pansy added, "Besides, _you're_ Head Girl, not me—I'm not even a Prefect this year. It's your bloody duty to care about things like this, Granger. So do your fucking job."

Hermione rolled her eyes, something she found herself doing a lot in this witch's presence, "Then give me more to work with than a vague warning, Parkinson."

Seeming to have come to a decision, Pansy squared her shoulders and raised her gaze to Hermione's, "I can't tell you how I know this, but tonight some of my housemates plan to make Draco pay for... for his betrayal."

_These arseholes just don't know when to stop, do they?_ Hermione thought with dark foreboding.

"He's been sneaking around where he shouldn't, and it's caught the wrong people's attention. If you care at all about his safety, then help me save him from himself."

Taken aback, Hermione wondered just when and how Malfoy had become the common ground upon which she and Pansy could stand. It was a jarring departure from pre-war Hogwarts, and the surreal realization that Pansy Parkinson was truly asking for _her_ help left her feeling as if she were standing on unstable ground.

Some part of her was relieved to know that Malfoy hadn't been getting up to something worse. In fact, it sounded like he was in the process of scratching the very same itch that had brought her here to meet with Pansy in the first place. Could it be that they had similar goals? Hermione was thrown by the prospect.

Realizing she had yet to respond to Pansy, she refocused on the situation at hand, "How do I know you're not leading me into a trap yourself?"

Seeing that she'd piqued Hermione's curiosity, the characteristic sneer reappeared on Pansy's face, "This meeting would have been a perfect opportunity for me to do that, don't you think?"

She had a point, but one could never lose sight of a Slytherin's capacity to deceive and manipulate. She decided to humor Pansy.

"So what, you expect me to pass this message on to Malfoy? Is that it?"

Pansy's expression tightened, "Do _not_ , under _any_ circumstances tell him it was me who warned you. You got that, Granger? Under _no_ circumstances."

Hermione's gaze wavered with confusion, "Just what are you playing at, Parkinson?"

Pansy shook her head with a dark laugh, "Wouldn't you like to know."

With a growing sense of trepidation, Hermione relented, "I'll speak to him. Merlin knows why you think I was the best person to come to about any of this."

Rolling her eyes, the Slytherin turned and began making her way around the U-shaped dock towards the boathouse exit. After a few steps, she turned to Hermione and said flippantly, "You said it yourself. If you can hold your own against two grown Death Eaters, this should be a piece of cake, right?"

Hermione wasn't sure who believed it less—her, or the Slytherin who'd clearly just lied out of her teeth in a cloying attempt at flattery. At least Pansy was easy to read right now compared to some of her other Slytherin housemates.

With one last warning not to "fuck it up," Pansy disappeared from view completely, and Hermione was left to wonder if she'd just bitten off more than she could chew. Still keeping an eye on her surroundings, she made her way out of the boathouse and walked towards the rendezvous point she'd agreed upon with Neville during breakfast. They had a lot to discuss.

_Since when does Draco bloody Malfoy occupy so much of my time?_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains brief depictions of torture. If that type of content potentially bothers you, then I recommend you read the sanitized version or skip this chapter altogether. Feel free to reach out to me for a sanitized chapter, or visit my website at c0nfiguration (dot) space to find the sanitized version of the chapter there. Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed or interacted with this story. I appreciate your attention!

There were few things Draco could think of that truly scared him anymore. The list had been much longer before Voldemort had intruded upon his life and indiscriminately wrecked everything in sight in a trial by fire. Many aspects of his old life had been rendered unrecognizable amidst the aftermath of the war, and along with them, his sense of self-preservation seemed to have fled as well.

The extent of that wreckage had only been compounded by the Sons of Salazar and their vindictive thirst for revenge— _they_ had made him fear once more, when little else now could. Draco wouldn't exactly say he was doing _well_ , but he was certainly focused. He knew what it would take for him to find some semblance of normalcy again. He'd spent every free moment over the past few weeks working towards knowing his enemy so that he could help infiltrate and destroy them from the inside out.

_It'll take rooting out every one of those sorry sons of bitches from Hogwarts before I'm satisfied,_ he thought to himself darkly. _Turns out Nott wasn't enough—what an anticlimax that was._

He mounted his broom by the Quidditch pitch in near complete darkness, and took a low and winding path around the school grounds out towards the Forbidden Forest. As he reveled in the feel of the cold night air against his skin, he wondered if a healthy dose of fear would have led him to make less brash decisions than the one he was heading towards on this night. Then again he didn't _feel_ reckless right now. In fact, he felt singleminded in purpose.

If all went according to plan, tonight would be one of the last times he'd have to sneak around the castle after hours to surveil the activity of the Sons of Salazar on campus. He and Blaise would _finally_ be collecting enough evidence tonight to nab all of the major players at Hogwarts. He liked to think he was somewhat prepared for it.

Auror Prather had shown him a useful spell that granted him clear vision in the nighttime darkness, and Draco had donned a black outfit that covered most of his pale skin for the occasion, complete with a skull cap that concealed his shock of platinum hair. He'd _Disillusioned_ himself, charmed his footfalls to be noiseless, and armed himself to the teeth with every magitechnological edge he could think of that might grant him leverage over whatever trouble he may have the misfortune of encountering. He knew his preparation may amount to fuck all when the time came, but he liked to think he'd learned a few things from his previous encounters by now.

Then again, this wasn't his usual exercise in reconnaissance. No, tonight the Sons seemed to have something far different planned than their usual activities—initiation rituals and society rites, for example. Blaise, of course, would partake in these rites tonight, while Draco would be hiding in the periphery, remaining unseen while he spied on them and worked to visually corroborate the members who were in attendance. Both his and Blaise's memories would be used as evidence in the investigation against the Hogwarts contingent of the secret society.

Neither of them had known what to expect from Blaise's official initiation into the Sons of Salazar, but they'd both grimly chosen to assume that hazing would most certainly be a part of it. It was only when he arrived near the northern edge of the Forbidden Forest, flying as low as possible, that Draco realized he and Blaise had unfortunately been right on the mark.

In a grotesque display of submission, he could see one of the new recruits writhing on the forest floor in a small clearing well-illuminated by moonlight, a _Silencio_ clearly having been cast at some point by what looked like Blaise, who was standing over the prone figure with his wand extended. The cursed recruit was seizing in a violent rictus of pain while his fellow society members stood around them wearing expressions that varied from boredom, to satisfaction, to glee and hunger. Like most meetings Draco had spied upon, this gathering only seemed to include Hogwarts students, all of them Slytherin. This was the most of them he'd seen in one gathering.

Draco landed in a nearby clearing, shrinking his broom and silently picking his way through the dense foliage that separated him from the casual display of cruelty that was taking place only a few meters away. He supposed he felt bad for what Blaise was being forced to do right now, but they'd known it would probably come to this.

_Blackmail as a form of enforcement._

In a sick and twisted way, it made sense that each recruit would be pushed to prove their loyalty by using _Unforgivables_ to both torture and be tortured by each other. Anyone found to have cast any of those three curses on or near Hogwarts grounds would be facing probable expulsion from school, along with Ministry attention. It was what Draco had faced, after all.

After another 30 seconds the curse was lifted, and while the Slytherin who had been writhing on the ground recovered in a shivering heap off to the side, Draco overheard someone address Blaise. The gruff voice belonged to Graham Montague, a stocky Slytherin who seemed to have filled Nott's absence in the vacuum that had been created by his arrest.

"So, Zabini? The _Cruciatus_ or the _Imperius_? Which'll it be?" Montague asked in a matter of fact tone.

Draco crept closer, near enough to see Blaise's jaw clench as he responded simply with, "The _Cruciatus_."

The moonlight illuminating the clearing was strong enough for Draco to see the smirk on Montague's face as he gestured to a third recruit who'd been kneeling off to the side, "Well Burton? You heard the man."

Draco recognized the last name, and realized this was _Norman_ Burton, the annoying 5th year who'd misguidedly attempted to become chummy with Draco in the common room the night he'd been assaulted for the first time. The younger Slytherin's face looked pallid and sweaty as he came into view, and he moved gingerly as he rose to stand in front of Blaise, wand arm extended and trembling. It looked as if he'd already undergone his own bout of _initiation_ of the same variety Blaise had just chosen.

Draco doubted Burton was capable of directing enough negative energy to cause Blaise more than a base level of pain. Hell, he doubted any of the idiots present tonight were capable of casting a _Cruciatus_ that was worth a damn. None of the people in that clearing save maybe Blaise deserved his concern nor his consideration, though. Their very presence tonight showed just where their loyalties were placed. And even his sentiments towards Blaise had wavered and cooled when he realized just how much both he and Pansy had concealed from him. Draco wondered how much of his situation could have been avoided if either of them had simply _told him_ something.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of Norman's hissed _"Crucio."_ It was quickly followed by a muttered _"Silencio"_ from Montague, who was standing nearby with his arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on his face.

Draco watched Blaise begin to twitch erratically on the floor within seconds, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes shut tightly in pain. It was difficult to compare subjective experiences of pain when different casters were causing that pain, but it seemed as if Blaise was having an easier time of it than the still anonymous recruit who had been under Blaise's wand just a few minutes ago.

_I suppose that has to count for something,_ Draco thought to himself grimly, knowing Blaise wouldn't see it that way. Surprisingly, this felt nowhere near as difficult to watch compared to the memory he'd viewed in McGonagall's office, but he didn't stop to examine why. Of course, it still wasn't _easy_ to watch by any stretch of the imagination. Blaise was someone he'd considered a close friend once, and watching a 5th year reduce him to nothing but a writhing mess in the dirt didn't sit well with the part of him who remembered that friendship.

Draco switched his attention to the other society members facing him to catch a clear view of their faces. He stealthily pulled out a pair of omnioculars from the bottomless pouch strapped to his waist, and peered through the magical lenses. After a few quick adjustments, and with the help of the night vision charm he was still using, he was able to clearly distinguish the faces of Elliot Arbery, Adrian Pucey, Millicent Bulstrode, and Terence Higgs.

Off to the side, he could also see what looked like Adrik Morozov, a 6th year transplant from eastern Europe, kneeling with his forehead touching the ground. Morozov was clearly still recovering from the _Cruciatus_ Blaise had inflicted upon him.

That still left four people in the gathering whose identities Draco had yet to confirm. After less than a minute, Burton lifted his curse, while Montague lifted his silencing spell. The sound of Blaise gasping became apparent, and for a moment it was the only sound that could be heard in the clearing. At length, Blaise struggled to his knees and knelt in a similar position to Morozov. Burton dropped to his knees beside them and did the same.

Realizing his time might soon be up, Draco crept slowly around the periphery of the clearing as Montague began to speak. His footfalls and movements were thankfully concealed by his prescient bit of spellwork earlier. This change in position might be the only way he'd be able to catch sight of the rest of the people in attendance tonight before the festivities were over.

In his haste, he stepped on a large brittle tree branch, one of many strewn across the forest floor. Draco only realized a split-second later that his footfall charm wouldn't be strong enough to hide the cracking sound from so large an object. He lifted his foot quickly before he could snap the branch completely, but the damage had already been done.

A few heads shot up at the cracking sound of wood, and Draco cursed himself internally for his folly. Thankfully, after some discussion no one chose to investigate the sound, although he could tell it had unsettled the group. He overheard Bulstrode muttering about the myriad dangerous creatures that could be found in the forest at night, and an arrogant smirk crept onto his lips despite his slip-up.

_I'm one of the creatures you should be scared of, Millie._

He chose his next few steps carefully, and thankfully they brought him close enough to the opposite side of the clearing to see the faces that had been obscured from him at first. He recognized Clarence Burke and Victor Caswell, two 6th years with malicious streaks a kilometer wide, as well as Chelsea Travers, a quiet 7th year whose presence there surprised him. Next to her stood Conrad Warrington, a 5th year who he recognized as a friend of Burton's.

With any luck, every single person in attendance tonight would face expulsion and Ministry blowback for their efforts—it was the least they deserved for clinging to pointless prejudices after they'd been given every chance to renounce them. And their prejudices _were_ pointless. Draco could see that more clearly than ever, and was ashamed to say the strength of his conviction only came from now having been on the receiving end of the bigotry he used to peddle, from having seen firsthand what its far-reaching effects could be.

The thought of Granger and the strength she'd shown in the face of those prejudices slithered into his mind, something that had been happening more often lately. In the few seconds he allowed himself to think about her before shutting down the distracting train of thought, he remembered not only the strength and defiance she'd shown in the face of that hatred, but also the faith in him that she'd displayed. It was more than he'd deserved, and certainly more than any of the people here tonight seemed to warrant.

Draco wanted to believe that some percentage of the witches and wizards standing in the clearing could be redeemed, even as they swore allegiance to hatred and destruction. He wanted to believe this because if he didn't, then he'd begin to question how _he_ had come out the other end of the war feeling as if he'd woken up from such a dark and twisted dream. Were any of them capable of feeling that way—as if they'd been swimming in dark waters for so long, only to finally emerge into a world they hadn't even been aware they wanted to be a part of? Could any of them separate their predispositions for Slytherin behavior from their culturally instilled bigotry? Would they _want_ to?

Job done for the night, Draco stashed his omnioculars back in his bottomless pouch with satisfaction and observed silently as the cadre of students performed a few more closing rituals before the gathering ended. He waited until each of the Slytherins in attendance had made their way past the tree line and back towards the castle before he moved back towards the clearing he'd originally landed at. He wasn't sure how exactly they'd made it past the school gates and wards, since it didn't seem like any of them had used broomsticks, but he didn't worry too much about it. He'd counted the number of bodies lumbering back to school grounds, and each of them had been accounted for, even if he didn't know where exactly their entry point would be.

After waiting nearly half an hour to ensure his housemates had all slithered back to the dungeons, he pulled his broomstick out of his pouch and transfigured it back to full size. With one last look around, he pushed off and was in the air for the second time that night. He was preoccupied with the next steps he'd need to take to pass everything he'd learned tonight onto Auror Prather, but he still kept an eye out for anything unusual as he flew back over the castle boundary and landed in the southwestern corner of the Quidditch pitch.

Feeling antsy with a sense of victory and anticipation, Draco stashed his broomstick away before stealthily sneaking back into castle via one of the open corridors that led onto the Quidditch fields. Minutes later, he crept over the walkway that connected the eastern and western ends of the castle and made a sharp turn into the corridor that led to the stairs. As he rounded the corner with his wand clutched at the ready, his overconfidence caught up with his ambition.

In a matter of seconds, multiple things happened in quick succession. From behind, he heard a shout and sensed a nearly imperceptible ripple of magical energy speeding towards him. In the split-second he had to make a decision, he dove to the side to avoid the spell while aiming his wand behind him and blindly launching a wordless _Stupefy_. He had another split-second to feel grim satisfaction at the sound of a body hitting the floor, but was then quickly distracted by the _Stupefy_ that hit him from the side.

_Fuck,_ was all he had time to think before it was his own body hitting the floor unconscious.

* * *

Hermione had been crouched _Disillusioned_ in the same spot for at least half an hour now, but she was too stubborn, curious and worried to leave just yet despite how bad of an idea she knew this was. Besides, she'd cast a warming spell on herself to ensure she couldn't use the temperature as an excuse to turn tail and retreat to the warmth and safety of her quarters. Although she'd allowed herself to shift around a few times during her vigil, a dull ache had begun to suffuse her joints as she huddled close to the ground behind a set of hedges—one of many that lined the Quidditch fields.

Of course, that dull ache had more to do with the tension and anxiety currently coursing through her body than it did with tonight's temperature. She knew this was stupid—no, supremely idiotic. She knew she must have a death wish at this rate, to be sneaking around alone at night based on information that was almost guaranteed to be faulty—provided by a Slytherin no less. She hadn't even notified anyone about where she'd gone. Perhaps it was anger morphed into stupidity that was motivating her now.

_That must be it,_ she scoffed to herself with a tinge of morbid humor, _My brain's turned to mush after so many bouts of the Cruciatus._

Pansy's words had gnawed like a stubborn itch at Hermione's self-control and peace of mind throughout the rest of the day. She'd spent it stewing, wishing she would have forced the Slytherin's hand during their earlier meeting. Yet she'd also spent it reminding herself that as Head Girl she had an example to set—one that didn't involve incapacitating and mentally violating a fellow student in broad daylight without physical provocation, no matter how tempting the prospect. Despite knowing she'd acted with her responsibilities as Head Girl in mind, Hermione had spent the next few hours simmering with mounting disquiet and indecision, wishing she'd at least been more forceful with the nasty viper of a Slytherin who'd thought to mock her plight. Pansy was _clearly_ up to something.

Objectively, Hermione could see exactly why what she was doing tonight was a terrible idea, but she hadn't accounted for being unable to warn Malfoy, had assumed she'd see him around at least _once_ throughout the day as per usual. Yet she'd seen neither hide nor hair from him since Pansy had delivered her wholly unexpected warning this morning. He'd vanished for all intents and purposes—she'd checked.

Harry had gifted her the Marauder's Map upon her return to Hogwarts after the attack, insisting it would help give her peace of mind given her responsibilities as Head Girl. When she'd hesitated he'd insisted upon it, telling her he hoped it would make her feel safer within the castle where so many terrible and wonderful things were liable to happen. Although she'd used it occasionally out of idle curiosity to distract herself, this was the first time she'd used it specifically to track someone since she'd been back this year.

However, she'd been alarmed when she'd activated the map that afternoon only to find that Malfoy seemed to be _nowhere on it._ Although it wasn't unheard of for students to leave the castle premises during the school day, she felt a frisson of panic knowing that there was a very real chance she could be too late to warn him. He'd given no indication recently that he planned to go off-campus at such odd hours.

_Just where in the hell is he?!_

For a split-second, her confidence in Malfoy wavered, and she wondered what he could possibly be doing, wondered if he'd snuck off for nefarious purposes. She abandoned this train of thought as quickly as it formed in her mind, deciding she was quite done making him her enemy for the time being, especially when he'd been nothing but a gentleman while in control of his own faculties. The rational part of her mind chimed in with a reminder that he could still have business to attend to, in the same way she had her weekly appointments with Healer Donovan.

_Pansy could also be playing an elaborate prank on me,_ she reminded herself. _But is that a chance I want to take? It's too much of a coincidence that he'd disappear on this of all days._

The hours before dinner had found Hermione bracing herself against one of the desks in her common room. Nose hovering only inches above the magically inked parchment, she'd looked for Malfoy's name with a frantic sense of concentration, hoping it would appear near the periphery of the castle indicating that he'd returned from wherever it was he'd disappeared off to.

Hermione had even gone as far as surreptitiously asking around about his whereabouts from other students. When that hadn't worked, she'd resorted to sending him an urgent owl and posting a note to his door in the afternoon. Neither message seemed to have been successfully delivered.

She wasn't quite sure what she intended to do once she found him now, especially if he appeared to be in no danger. She supposed finding him at all would be a relief at this point. Certainly asking him what the hell was going on would be her first course of action if he was indeed unscathed. In the idle hours she spent scouring the map, she decided to dress herself in clothing more suitable for the kind of idiocy she was contemplating if he _did_ reappear.

It was in the Great Hall during dinnertime that she really began to worry. She'd positioned herself across from Ginny to surreptitiously watch the Slytherin table, and had noted Malfoy's absence throughout the entirety of the meal. As far as she could tell, it was the first time he had missed dinner in weeks.

And suddenly at around 10:30 that night, long after she'd moved to the couch to lounge with Crookshanks while keeping one eye on the map, Malfoy's name had miraculously reappeared. The black dot representing him had briskly made its way into the castle via the stairs that led up from the boat docks. With a start, Hermione had watched as he'd made his way towards the side of the castle that held their dormitories, only to veer off and head towards the eastern end of the castle. He'd paused for a few minutes at what looked like a supply closet before making his way towards the northeastern corner of the castle.

Upon realizing he didn't plan to return to their quarters, Hermione had scrambled to grab her wand and cloak, all while keeping an eye on the black dot that represented Malfoy on the map to track his position. She'd then hurried out of their rooms, giving herself little time to question what she was doing, or _why_. All she knew was that she would feel responsible now if anything happened to him tonight. She had been too frantic to let things like common sense and reason guide her, too preoccupied to wonder if Pansy had indeed intended for her to walk into another trap of some sort.

It was why she now found herself crouched outdoors waiting for Malfoy to return from his little night jaunt. She'd allowed her emotions to overtake her, had decided to rush into this situation because she felt she'd failed him by not alerting him in time, in the off chance that Pansy had been telling the truth. Although the rational part of her understood that none of what could befall him in the next few hours would be her fault, tonight she was a Gryffindor to a fault if her reckless decision-making and insufferable desire to save others was anything to go by.

She could have chosen to wait for Malfoy in a more obvious location, but she didn't like the idea of leaving herself so exposed while being so distracted. The hedges had provided just enough to cover to make her feel less anxious about splitting her attention between the skies and the map to ensure no one was creeping up on her, and to ensure Malfoy hadn't come back through a different entry point in the castle altogether.

Hermione wasn't even sure this was where Malfoy would return to the school grounds. She'd nearly sprinted across the castle to catch up to him, using the map to avoid Filch and a few other late-night wanderers, including the two Prefects who were on patrol for the rest of the night.

She'd arrived at the Quidditch pitch just in time to see him lifting off on his broom to slice up through the air. For a split-second she'd considered shouting out to him or catching his attention in some way, but there was an entire sports field separating them, and in the time she'd hesitated he'd quickly disappeared into the night sky. A sickening pit of worry had dropped in her stomach upon his departure, along with anger at his hypocrisy.

_He tells me not to wander around the halls at night alone, yet here he is cavorting around doing Merlin knows what at near midnight after going missing for the day! The nerve!_

Left with little other recourse and motivated by a not inconsiderable amount of mounting ire, she'd hunkered down, keeping one eye on the map and one eye on the skies while she waited for _something_ to happen. A little under half an hour later, she noticed a group of what looked like Slytherin names appear suddenly near the dungeons on the map. Alarmed, she watched as a few more of them appeared on the river bank, as if they'd emerged from the water. One by one each Slytherin made their way down to the dungeons and presumably back to their dormitories, with the exception of two who broke off from the group to make their way towards the heart of the castle.

_Montague, Zabini, Burton, Bulstrode, Pucey, Higgs, Morozov—just how many of them are there?!_

Heart racing, Hermione made it a point to memorize the names she saw emerging from the river and heading towards the dormitories. Her first instinct was to say to hell with it all and go straight to McGonagall. Such a flagrant disregard of school rules by such a large contingent of students—twelve altogether, if she'd counted correctly—was not something that could be taken lightly given the current atmosphere.

Torn, Hermione had half a mind to investigate for herself just what in Merlin's name they were up to, knowing it was almost certainly nothing good. She watched as the two dots representing Clarence Burke and Victor Caswell stopped near the eastern edge of the courtyard that opened onto the walkway facing the opposite half of the school. She raised into a half-crouch, ready to storm over to that part of the castle and raise hell, but something held her back.

Once again, the image of Malfoy sprawled out in front of the hearth, contorting with the strength of the _Crucio_ that had been cast upon him stopped her cold in her tracks. She sat back heavily into the scratchy brush beneath her, momentarily thrown by the memory. No, she would stay put and see her original goal through first. After all, she would be speaking with McGonagall about this one way or another first thing tomorrow morning, even if it meant revealing her possession of the Marauder's map.

As she considered Burke and Caswell's possible motivations, she realized with a jolt of adrenaline that they might be the ones Pansy had warned her about this morning. Could it be that she was watching them as they positioned themselves to ambush Malfoy? Had she really just caught the pieces as they settled into place? It might be a stretch, but it was too convenient to be a coincidence, and she kept the possibility on her mind as she reevaluated how she intended to handle this situation. Perhaps direct action wasn't what was required on this night. Perhaps it called for more subtle measures.

Nearly an hour after she'd first spied Malfoy's liftoff, she noticed a dark figure flying back over the the school's boundary. She scrambled to prepare to move, and after double-checking the map, confirmed that it was indeed Malfoy who had just landed. He was quick to dispatch of his broom and sweep into the nearest archway.

_No matter_ what _happens tonight, I'm getting some answers,_ she thought darkly despite the relief also coursing through her body.

A sliver of rationality interrupted her self-righteous musings with a reminder that under these circumstances, Malfoy's first response upon realizing someone was following him might be to take evasive or defensive maneuvers unless she identified herself clearly. She debated the best way to catch his attention without putting herself in harm's way, and realized with a stroke of clarity that it might be best to trail him silently until she could provide backup or until they both arrived safely back at their quarters. At least in their rooms she'd have the privacy to rip him a new arsehole for being such a bloody idiot.

_This is Howler-worthy bullshit,_ she thought as her irritation with Malfoy grew.

She crept along behind the hedge and then slipped through the closest archway into the school, clutching the map in her left hand, and holding her wand at the ready in her right hand. Cursing silently, she checked the map in a shaft of moonlight before folding it hastily and shoving it in her pocket once she noticed that Malfoy had progressed far ahead of her into the castle. Either he was naturally gifted with stealth, or this wasn't the first time he'd done this—or both. The thought only caused the furrow in her brow to deepen.

As they crept closer towards the western wing of the castle, Hermione's wand hand began to tremble. He was headed exactly in the direction where Caswell and Burke had stationed themselves. She wrestled with what to do, unsure if she should cause a commotion, or try to intercept Malfoy, or if she should try to ambush the ambush. The strategic side of her grimly noted that if she waited until the 6th year Slytherins attacked, she would have much more probable cause for being out tonight and apprehending them within her capacity as Head Girl. But it would involve letting Malfoy walk into yet another potentially traumatic situation, and it would involve putting herself in danger once again.

Hermione found that she didn't mind that last thought as much she should have, but the thought of some sort of catastrophe befalling Malfoy terrified her. She wasn't sure what it was that was driving her to so fervently look out for his best interests, and now was definitely not the time to question it. Later, she'd have plenty of time to wonder just what the hell was going through her mind.

She scurried into the shadows only stopping once to check the map again, cursing silently when she saw that Malfoy was already beginning to cross the covered walkway that spanned the river. She rushed ahead to catch up with him, and reached the end of the stone bridge in time to watch his nearly imperceptible form turn the corner up ahead. She was also just in time to see the shadow that peeled away from the wall to begin stalking after him, wand pointed at his back.

Too many things happened in the span of a few heartbeats as she sprinted into the hallway and rounded the corner yelling his name. The shadowed figure wordlessly launched a stunning spell at Malfoy's back, but seemed to miss. The _Stupefy_ that had half-formed next on her lips was cut abruptly short when the shadow was felled by someone else's stunning spell, presumably rendering him unconscious. Almost immediately after this, the reddish flash of a third stunning spell illuminated the dark hallway, one that knocked Malfoy unconscious a few meters ahead of her.

With nothing but milliseconds to decide on a course of action, Hermione decided to incapacitate now and apologize later. Aided by the illumination of the three successive stunning spells that had just been cast before her, she pointed her wand where she'd just seen Caswell standing over Draco. She shot the fourth stunning spell of the night at the 6th year, and noted in mute horror that he'd responded in kind with something much nastier upon noticing her. She lunged to the side to avoid his hex, and noted that her spell struck true. In the seconds it took for his body to hit the floor, she cast a _Lumos_ and rounded on Burke, who was laying unconscious behind her. Frowning, she cast an _Incarcerous_ on the two unconscious 6th year students, and then rushed to crouch by Malfoy.

Feeling ever-vigilant and shaking slightly from the adrenaline now coursing through her system, she pulled out the map first and checked to see if anyone else had slithered out of the dungeons to cause trouble. She was relieved to see that the four of them were the only ones nearby. She tucked the map away and refocused her attention on Malfoy, double-loading spells to keep him illuminated.

" _Rennervate,"_ she whispered.

He came to with a start, wincing and staring at her in confusion once he recognized her behind the glare of her _Lumos_.

"What the fuck—Granger?" he began, clearly still experiencing the same panic from before he'd been knocked unconscious.

He sat up quickly before pushing himself to his feet, and Hermione held up a hand to interrupt him after standing to face him. She felt a spike of compassion shoot through her at the emotions clearly coursing through his usually shuttered visage.

"We're safe, Malfoy," she cut him off, "and although we have _plenty_ to catch up on later tonight, in the meantime there are more pressing matters we need to attend to—namely those two over there."

She motioned at the two unconscious 6th years sprawled out before them.

"But first," she said more gently, "Are you alright?"

Malfoy noted the bound forms of his housemates with a mix of confusion and relief, and turned to look at her with a hint of disbelief still coloring his features, "I'm fine, thanks to you Granger. But how did you know to be here? How did you find me?"

She watched as he visibly pulled himself together, watched as the last of the panic bled from his gaze only to be replaced by a more composed expression.

"We can talk about that later. For now, I say we take this up with McGonagall. You levitate Burke, I'll take Caswell," she said, inclining her head at the 6th years.

"And what exactly do you propose we tell McGonagall, hmm Granger? How exactly do you intend to explain your involvement in this to her? Do you plan to tell her you just randomly happened to come across me in my time of need at half past midnight?" he asked sarcastically.

Her gaze cut a sharp line to his and narrowed.

"I'll tell her the truth, Malfoy. Would you rather I release these two with nothing worse than detention and points reductions, and wait until tomorrow to bring it up? You saw what happened the last time your housemates ambushed us. I doubt they had anything nicer planned for you this time."

Malfoy winced minutely at her words, but met her gaze evenly, "There's certainly one way to find out."

He stepped over to Burke, who was closest to him, and cast a _Petrificus Totalus_ on the unconscious teen, then cast another on his friend.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Hermione asked suspiciously, coming to stand next to him as he cast a double _Mobilicorpus_ on the pair of Slytherins.

His response was evasive, "I'm levitating them to this classroom up here on the left to give us more cover while we figure out what to do."

He began to make his way down the corridor, and had the nerve to call out behind him, "Your _Lumos_ would be much appreciated up here you know."

She glared at his back with angry incredulity, but followed after him and bit out, "That's a shit answer and you know it. Try again."

He waited until they were safely inside the empty classroom with the door closed behind them before he said, "I'm going to see if they have any incriminating memories worth extracting. Then I'm going to _Obliviate_ any memory of my intrusion from their minds. And _then_ we're going to take them to McGonagall."

She paused, shaking her head, "You shouldn't be tampering with their memories like this, not without first checking with her."

He locked the door and silenced the room with an _Alohamora_ and _Muffliato_ cast in quick succession before responding with a sigh, "Granger, I answer to the same people she does. She'll understand."

"Pardon, _what_?!" she asked, some of her anger bleeding into confusion and curiosity.

He grimaced, "Look, I can explain it all once we get back to our rooms, but now is _not_ the time, witch."

He made as if to point his wand at Caswell, but Hermione's patience snapped before he could finish. In quick succession she aimed _Expelliarmus_ and _Immobulus_ charms at him, rounding on his frozen form so she could ground out her next words while locked onto his furious gaze.

"No, Malfoy. You'll give me answers _now_ ," she said in a tone that left no room for argument, "You'll tell me _now_ why the bloody hell Pansy fucking Parkinson of all people was right to warn me about you. You'll tell me _now_ who the fuck you're working for. The finer details can wait until we're back in our rooms, but don't you dare try to brush me off one more bloody time or so help me!"

Her gaze smoldering with stubborn ire, she added with mock ruefulness, "Don't worry Malfoy, the rest of your body might be frozen but your face is free to move, so you can still run your mouth."

He stared at her with a hint of the type of icy regard he'd reserved for her in the days when he'd still called her mean names*.* She didn't care that her actions just now had potentially violated any sense of trust he may have had in her, didn't care if this put them back at square one. She was tired of being kept in the dark.

At length he muttered, "The investigation into the Sons of Salazar—I'm helping with it. It's why I was out there tonight, and it's why I told you McGonagall won't care if I invade their minds. She knows I'm a Ministry informant, knows that's what I was up to today. What she _doesn't_ know is that you're involved in any way—and you shouldn't be. She'll have my head for it if she finds out."

He ended with a pointed look at her, although its impact was lessened given the frozen state of the rest of his body. Hermione paused.

_I suppose that makes sense, actually._

She'd already wondered if he'd been off on Ministry business of some sort, but it wasn't too much of a stretch to think that he'd become part of the official investigation. A spike of envy shot through her at the knowledge that the Ministry had trusted _him_ with that kind of work while leaving her out of it.

"Why shouldn't I be involved? I've just as much a right to get to the bottom of it as you do, Malfoy," she declared, placing her hands on her hips while wearing a defiant expression.

He rolled his eyes, "Right, of course, because you're a bloody Gryffindor and it's your life's mission to intrude into everyone's affairs so you can swoop in and save the day."

Hermione ground her teeth, "That's not fair and you know it! I've just as much a right to be involved in this investigation as you do!"

She had the distinct impression he would have cocked his head to the size if he hadn't been frozen to the spot because of her.

He raised an eyebrow, "Look Granger, I get it—I shouldn't have treated you like a pushover just now. Lesson learned. But is this _really_ the time?"

She huffed with exasperation but conceded, "Fine, but gods damn it Malfoy! Enough with the secrecy!"

She released the freezing charm and handed him back his wand reluctantly, refusing to feel sheepish for having stood up for herself. She'd just saved his arse, after all.

Without wasting any time, he proceeded to cast a _Rennervate_ on Caswell, who was still bound and petrified despite now being awake. She watched Victor's eyes swivel around frantically only to land on Malfoy and widen. Malfoy didn't waste any time, and with a whispered _Legilimens_ he locked gazes with Caswell and dove into his mind.

Hermione felt a roil of emotions at the scene playing out before her. She was still infuriated with Malfoy's earlier curt dismissal of her, and now felt discomfited by the sight of _Legilimency_ being performed before her like this, so reminiscent of the position she'd been in a few weeks ago. She shook herself out of this train of thought, slamming her mental walls down on the whirlpool of emotions that threatened to overtake her with the spark of that memory. Despite her discomfort, some small part of her was also envious of Malfoy's shamelessness and assertiveness.

Sure, she could have tried something similar to his methods earlier today with Parkinson, but she hadn't trusted her own mental fortitude in that moment. The thought of mind-to-mind contact with anyone still made Hermione shudder. It reminded her of what it had felt like to have Mulciber rooting around in her mind, ruthlessly and methodically wreaking havoc one happy memory at a time.

Leaving her anger to stew somewhere near her stomach, she surreptitiously pulled out the Marauder's map and checked it to see if anything had changed. Their part of the castle had remained blessedly empty throughout their altercation, and they had a clear path to McGonagall's study with no obvious interruptions along the way. She deactivated the map and put it away only a few seconds before Malfoy emerged from Caswell's mind glowering.

"Well?" Hermione queried, "What did you find?"

"Far more than I'd hoped," he responded cryptically before stalking over to Clarence Burke, "They had quite the welcome party prepared for me down in the dungeons tonight. These two were to be my horse and carriage down to hell, as it were."

He didn't give her a chance to say anything else before he awakened Burke and whispered _Legilimens_ once again.

Immediately Hermione's mind went back to Pansy's warning from earlier in the day. Against all odds, had Parkinson really been telling the truth? No guile? No games? There had to be a catch—something she was missing. As she mulled it over, she began to pace, distantly noting Victor's panicked gaze. His eyes were swinging around wildly as he presumably tried to figure out a way out of his current predicament.

She was reminded of the group of Slytherins who had snuck back into the dungeons earlier in the night via the waterway that divided the castle down the middle. It wouldn't take a huge leap in logic to imagine that they had been the welcome party Malfoy had inferred from Caswell's mind.

_Just how far would they have gone to exact revenge?_

She wondered if they would have had their fun with him first, only to transport him out of the school to be murdered as had been the original plan for her. Perhaps that was what Malfoy was in the process of ascertaining. Then again, as tonight had shown her, she obviously had next to no idea just what the hell Draco Malfoy was up to despite the fact that they were roommates and colleagues.

It occurred to her that this Slytherin welcome party would be expecting their guests' arrival any minute now. How long would it be before more Sons of Salazar came up to this part of the castle to investigate? Were they headed here now? Feeling paranoia begin to creep up her spine, Hermione pulled the map out again to check.

_Just to make sure._

The moment she reactivated it, she was glad her paranoia had pushed her to check. Three more Slytherins were currently on their way towards their part of the castle. As she watched, each of them split off, seeming to take a different route towards where they'd expected their housemates to apprehend Malfoy.

Cursing, she looked towards Malfoy. His cool gaze was still locked on Burke's frozen expression. It was taking him a lot longer to read Clarence's thoughts than it had taken him to read Caswell's. Her eyes darted to the locked classroom door, and then back to the map.

Deciding this situation had officially reached the point of further escalation, Hermione pulled out her wand and tried to focus on happy thoughts. Her more recent memories came to the fore relatively easily, but the memories she had previously relied on to cast a _Patronus_ had disappeared. It was supremely frustrating to remember that they had existed without being able to remember the memories themselves. It made their absence all the more stark in that moment.

Resolved to push past that momentary pain, Hermione drew upon new fountains of happiness, most especially from the day she and her friends had defeated Voldemort once and for all. It had been a day full of tragedy and pain too, but in that moment, when she'd realized the dark wizard had been eradicated, she'd felt such a strong feeling of elation, one that resonated even now as she revisited it.

At first, she was only able to produce incorporeal wisps of silver mist, but at length she was eventually able to produce the corporeal otter she'd grown used to. She was grateful to know that _that_ of all memories hadn't been taken from her. Relieved, she whispered her message and sent her silver otter shooting off towards the Headmistress' quarters, hoping it wouldn't be intercepted by any of the Slytherins who were converging on their group, and hoping it would get there in time to be of help.

Her train of thought was broken a few minutes later when Malfoy finally emerged from Burke's mind. His glowering expression had turned murderous, and for a split-second a frisson of anxiety skittered down her back at the sight of him. She had to remind herself that he wasn't someone she should be afraid of, at least not in this moment.

"Things are starting to make sense, Granger. Including what you said about Pansy earlier," he said darkly.

Her anxiety quickly morphed into intrigue, "How so?"

He gestured towards Caswell, whose frenetic gaze had alighted on her, "Turns out Pansy's father is one of the ringleaders in the Sons of Salazar now—he was promoted. He's the one now in charge of overseeing student operations at Hogwarts. Quartius has been a busy man indeed."

Hermione's expression became confused, "But then... why would she have warned me to look out for you tonight?"

This time both of Malfoy's eyebrows rose as he turned fully to regard her with surprise, "Wait, you're saying she warned you to _look out_ for me? I thought you meant she'd warned you to stay _away_ from me."

Hermione shook her head, "No, she said you'd been caught sticking your nose into the wrong things, and mentioned that if I cared at all about your safety, I should keep you from sneaking around tonight. But of course, you disappeared from the castle for most of the day, so that became exceedingly difficult."

Malfoy's gaze narrowed, "How do you know that? How could you possibly have known I'd left school premises with that degree of certainty?"

She rolled her eyes, "Let's just add that to the list of things we need to clarify once we get back to our rooms, hmm Malfoy? In the meantime, trust me when I say that these two idiots are the least of our problems. _Obliviate_ them so we can _Stupefy_ them, because in the next five minutes we're going to have three more of their ilk knocking down our door if McGonagall doesn't get here in time to help us sort this out before someone gets hurt."

His gaze remained narrowed, but his eyes darted towards the door, " _How in the fuck_ do you know that, Granger? What aren't you telling me?"

She gave him a wry smile, "Smarts, doesn't it—not getting the answers you want?"

He cut her an icy glare, "Now's really not the time to be petulant, witch."

"You should have thought of that before you tried to take me for a pushover," she shot back heatedly.

Shaking his head and muttering unintelligibly, he turned on the still paralyzed 6th years and made short work of _Obliviating_ them before rendering them unconscious. While he did that, Hermione pulled out the map for a third time and smoothed it out before her to watch the three Slytherins—Higgs, Pucey, and Arbery—descend from different directions upon the hallway in which their skirmish had occurred a little under ten minutes ago. With a huge wave of relief, she also noted that McGonagall was already halfway across the stone bridge that connected both sides of the castle. It seemed her _Patronus_ had done its job. Perhaps they _would_ be able to avoid any considerable confrontation tonight after all.

Malfoy rounded on her once he was done incapacitating both 6th years and repeated, " _What aren't you telling me?_ "

Hermione sighed and gestured towards the hallway, "Terrence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, and Elliot Arbery have just arrived in that hallway out there to find out why Burke and Caswell haven't returned with you to the Slytherin dungeons. Within the next few minutes Headmistress McGonagall should be done incapacitating them for further interrogation, at which point I expect her to knock on the door with the pattern I asked her to use to verify it's her."

Malfoy stared at her with what she guessed was a mixture of wonder and suspicion, "How in Merlin's name do you know any of that?"

"Don't you ever get tired of repeating yourself?" she asked coyly.

"Granger," he ground out in a warning tone.

Realizing she'd probably get an earful from Harry about this later, she gestured down to the Marauder's map, "It's this map. It lets me track any person's position if they're within the castle grounds. It's how I was able to find you tonight, and it's how I know for a fact that McGonagall has now dealt with Higgs and Pucey, and that she's in the process of apprehending Arbery as we speak."

Gobsmacked and looking extremely intrigued, Malfoy stared at the map she held in wonder and asked, "Where on earth did you get something like that?"

Hermione shook her head, "Later, Malfoy. Let's focus on cleaning this mess up before diving into any other quagmires."

Malfoy gave her a thoughtful look, "We could have cleaned it up ourselves, you know."

She nodded and met his eyes while folding the map and putting it back in her cloak pocket, "Yes, we could have. But I didn't trust either of us to be able to do it without harming someone in the process, nor without being harmed ourselves. I decided not to risk it given the current atmosphere."

At that moment, the door knocked in a peculiar rhythmic pattern. With a surge of relief, Hermione headed towards the door while informing him, "Well, the map confirms it. That's definitely McGonagall."

The next hour passed in a blur. Hermione and Malfoy spent it retelling their versions of what had happened that night while helping a slightly disheveled McGonagall transport the five unconscious Slytherins who had thought to act upon what was clearly a plan to ambush Malfoy for more nefarious purposes to her office. McGonagall had also awoken and conferred with Slughorn, who dragged the rest of the Slytherin party Hermione and Malfoy had spied sneaking around that night up to her office as well.

All told, the combined accounts of both Head Girl and Head Boy, along with their willingness to provide their memories of the night, gave McGonagall enough credible cause within the context of the investigation to refer the twelve Slytherins to the Ministry for further interrogation immediately. As they'd waited for the requisite number of Aurors to appear at so odd an hour of the night, McGonagall crisply informed each of the twelve students that it was very likely their attendance at Hogwarts would be terminated given the activities they had been part and party to that night. To say most of them were stunned would be an understatement.

Hermione felt nothing but grim satisfaction, and based on what little she could read in Malfoy's expression, it appeared he felt the same way. Not a single one of the Slytherins standing before them seemed to be interested in anything but purveying pure hatred, and Hermione had had enough of it.

As she and Malfoy quietly made their way back to their quarters with a promise to McGonagall to check in again early the following morning for a more in-depth briefing, Hermione felt resolute in the way they'd handled things that night. In one fell swoop they'd knocked out a huge swathe of the bigots who continued to purvey their backwards drivel at Hogwarts. But as she snuck surreptitious glances at Malfoy, she couldn't help but feel that things weren't over yet if his grim expression was anything to go by—not by a long shot.

_Well, we certainly have a lot to talk about tonight,_ she mused as they walked back to their rooms together.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Once again, I deeply appreciate your attention and appreciation for this story! I joked on Twitter (config_space) that it's only taken me 13 chapters to realize I'm writing a slow burn, but here we are. Thanks and enjoy!

Draco noted the fiery gleam in Granger's eyes as they settled tiredly upon the love seats across from each other in their common room. Irked though she may be, this might be the most lively he'd seen his fellow Head Girl since before the war, and certainly since they'd come back for 8th year.

_It's a good look for her,_ he mused idly as he allowed some of the tension from the night to finally begin to bleed from his limbs, _Even if some of it is directed at me._

There were worse things in the world than to have Hermione Granger staring at him with such amorphous heat in her gaze, especially considering she'd saved his arse _yet again_. It was becoming ridiculous—damsel indeed. If he’d believed at all in life debts (which he didn’t), he’d owe the witch sitting across from him a few lifetimes’ worth at this rate. Consequently, he'd take whatever ire she had for him as long as she was giving him the time of day. Indeed, this was certainly the most invigorated _he'd_ felt in quite some time.

He removed his skull cap and dropped it next to him, carding his fingers through his disheveled hair. He leaned into the cushion behind him with a sigh that contained relief, weariness, foreboding, and so much more. There were things he'd seen in the minds of Victor Caswell and Clarence Burke that he had yet to tell Granger about. And he _did_ plan to tell her—tomorrow morning. There were plenty of things he was pushing off until later, for example the emotions that came with having been nearly ambushed _again_. For tonight, he wanted to revel in her company and keep her all to himself in the cozy confines of their common room without interruption.

The flickering fire from the nearby hearth accentuated the soft curves of Granger's face and plaited hair while casting warm highlights across her golden skin. She was a lioness incarnate, and he was the hapless fool who'd realized he was naught but a moth drawn to her flame. What's more, he was glad for it. Tonight she'd definitively shown him not just that she could hold her own with him, but that she was _better_ than him in some of the ways that mattered to him.

The realization had stung for about half an hour, but Draco was nothing if not pragmatic. Pride was malleable, after all—he could reframe this to find something he could work with, could anneal this realization with the attraction he'd already begrudgingly begun to admit he felt for her—at least to himself. Indeed, it spoke volumes about how much his regard for her had progressed in the past few weeks that he could honestly say he didn't mind Granger's display of dominance tonight. In fact, he found her all the more attractive for it.

The animated witch sitting across from him was the antithesis of the shell of a girl he'd spied in Diagon Alley months ago, and leagues away from the tremulous girl who'd surprised him in this common room only a few weeks ago. The change in her was stark, and it was why he couldn't give two shits about the blows to his ego she'd dealt him tonight—it was worth it if it meant seeing her like this, closer to the witch he knew she was at heart. Better that _she_ be the one to point out his weaknesses than one of the Slytherin arseholes who'd been poised to end him tonight.

Filing those thoughts away for now, he centered his gaze on hers and cocked an eyebrow.

"So where shall we begin, Granger? Should we start with your uncanny habit of rescuing me? Or would you rather lead with the magical map you conveniently pulled out of your arse this evening?”

Attention snagged, her gaze rose to meet his. She looked unimpressed and responded crisply, “I’d much rather start with how you became an informant for the Ministry, Malfoy. From there I’d be happy to move on to where you ran off to today.”

Draco smirked despite himself, “Why, did you miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, "About as much as a plimpy misses having its legs tied."

His smirk softened into a grin. Deciding to forego any further antagonization in favor of humoring her, his expression smoothed, "It goes without saying, but anything I tell you stays in this room, Granger."

She considered him for a moment before conceding, "Fine, within reason."

He figured that was the best he would get from her presently. Auror Prather might not appreciate it, but like it or not she was part of the investigation now. She'd ensured as much tonight with her actions, and Draco could only feel grateful for her help, unexpected as it had been.

"I've been spying on the Sons of Salazar since my release from Ministry custody last month. And no, Granger—before you ask, I wasn't coerced. In fact, I _volunteered_ to do it," he drawled.

She looked momentarily taken aback, "Why would _you_ do that?"

He shrugged, "Revenge. Vindication. Justice. Closure. Take your pick—they're all contributing factors."

She processed his words in silence, and he wondered which part of his admission had given her pause. For so long he'd viewed her as a one-dimensional intruder in his world, as the deserving target of his xenophobic cruelty. It had taken a war and an ambush to make him see that she was so much more than he'd given her credit for. Could she be having a similar realization about him? Would she ever be able to see him as more than the flat caricature of a bigoted wizard he'd cultivated for most if not all of his life? Now that he could acknowledge the depth in her, he wanted her to do the same for him, wanted it in a way he desired few things.

Finally she asked, "So what has your spying entailed, then?"

"Mostly I've been doing reconnaissance around the castle grounds at night, although a few other... opportunities have also come up. It's not like there aren't already Aurors working on this case after all, but apparently it's quite useful to have a student at your disposal when part of your investigation centers around a school," he answered dryly.

Her head tilted slightly, "Is that what you were off doing today?"

He nodded, "I was preparing for tonight, among other things, but yes. When you saw me fly off, I was heading to the Forbidden Forest to surveil a Sons of Salazar initiation ritual."

No need to tell her that part of his absence today was due to a separate request Auror Prather had asked of him—one that involved breaking into a property that had been keyed to his father's blood, and which had now been co-opted as a safe house for the secret society. At least he'd had backup for that one. Then again, _she'd_ been his backup tonight, he just hadn't known it.

"So, that group of Slytherins I tracked on the map returning via the waterway—that's who you were watching in the forest?"

He nodded, "I was collecting evidence of their participation in illicit activities tonight. Still can't believe you saw them too, by the way. If they weren't screwed before, they're definitely fucked now with your added testimony."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course I saw them, Malfoy. I spent the better part of the night scouring the Marauder's map for any sign of you—a group of 12 Slytherins sneaking around after curfew sticks out like a sore thumb."

He zeroed in on the opening she'd provided, intent on finally getting some answers to some of his own questions.

"Just the subject I wanted to switch to, Granger. I've answered all your questions thus far. It's only fair you return the favor. What did you call it—the _Marauder's_ map? What is it? Why is it in your possession? How does it work?"

Her response was cagey, "It's... well, it's a map of the school grounds that was created by a group of Hogwarts students a few decades ago. It shows the location of all castle inhabitants in real time. Harry gave it to me last month, and I don't think he'd appreciate me telling you how it works."

He chuckled dryly, "Granger, I just revealed classified Ministry information to you and you're worried about what _Potter_ thinks about this? He's kept you just as much in the dark about this investigation as everyone else has."

She stopped short, "He–Harry knew about all of this?"

Draco inclined his head, "He's known since the beginning. Yet who's the one giving you answers tonight? Oh right, that's me."

He wasn't sure how exactly he could tell—perhaps a shift in her eyes—but he saw the exact moment some of the ire in her gaze was redirected towards Potter, and oh how it caused a flutter of pleasure to dance across his stomach until it settled as satisfaction a little lower in his body.

"That overprotective dolt is going to get an earful from me," she muttered, and he wondered if she was incensed enough to send the Boy Who Lived a Howler. Draco was sure he'd never experienced this level of schadenfreude before, and could only watch on in glee. Still, he could see where Potter was coming from.

"He probably didn't want you to worry, Granger. My guess is he wanted you to focus on your recovery and stay out of trouble," Draco said gruffly. He couldn't _believe_ he was in any way defending Saint Potter, but this would be a perfect segue into his second pressing question of the night—he'd circle back to the map later.

"The irony of course, is that of the two of us _you're_ the one who seems to be far more capable of taking care of herself," Draco continued in a tone that was equal parts self-deprecating and wry.

Her gaze shot towards him.

He added, "Then again, the world would mind it a lot less if _I_ were collateral damage than if the same fate were to befall you."

Here she cut him off, "You know that's not true."

He shrugged, "It is, and I deserve it. I can admit that much at least. The real question though, is why _you_ care so much about what happens to me."

"I told you before, it's what any self-respecting person would do—help someone in need."

He shook his head, "No Granger, I don't think that's it. There are plenty of self-respecting people out there who wouldn't repeatedly put themselves in harm's way just to help me. So I'll ask it more plainly, witch. Why is it that every time my life seems to be perilously close to going to shite lately, you happen to be the one who puts things to rights?"

It was fascinating to watch the emotions play across her face as she struggled to find the best way to respond to the implication in his words.

"I–I've asked myself the same question often enough, Malfoy," she finally muttered, a crease of confusion forming on her brow while a maelstrom raged behind her umber gaze, "I still don't have a clear answer."

Unwilling to let the question drop, he leaned forward and prodded, "Then give me the unclear version of it."

She huffed but seemed to consider his question for a few moments.

"You're a puzzle I can't help but be drawn to, I suppose," she said pensively, "Only... the pieces have been rearranged—they seem to fit together differently now, and the picture of you that's emerged from them... it shouldn't be destroyed before it has a chance to form. You're still a prat, but you're not the cruel wizard I once knew you as."

There was an unfamiliar feeling welling up his gullet, tightening in his throat, tingling at the edge of his fingers. Was this hope? He didn't want to believe it.

"You don't hate me anymore?" he asked cautiously.

"I hated you once upon a time, Malfoy—for good reason. But no, I certainly don't now. I daresay I've grown marginally fond of you."

" _Only_ marginally?" he drawled with a hint of mirth sparkling in his eyes, "I don't know, Granger. Considering how many times you've swooped in to save the day, I have to wonder if your sentiments towards me don't extend towards something a little stronger than that."

A light blush spread across her cheeks at his suggestion, a response that only further intrigued him.

"That couldn't be further from the truth," she gritted out stubbornly, a subtle line of tension suffusing her shoulders and creasing her brow. Her change in body language spoke volumes.

_Fuck it,_ he decided, _I came into this year expecting rejection so I might as well start courting it._

"No? A pity, because my sentiments towards you extend _far_ beyond marginal fondness," he said with an air of insouciance.

"What are you on about?" she asked suspiciously.

He decided to just get it over with, "I like you, Granger."

Her eyes narrowed, "If this is part of some protracted prank, I want no part in it, Malfoy."

"No pranks," he murmured while seeking out her gaze, "Only truth. I can't help but feel drawn to you, witch."

As if trying to rationalize the pull he felt, she said, "You're just drawn to what I represent in your life because of the second chances I've given you."

He shook his head, "If that were the case, I wouldn't have spent this entire conversation distracted by the way the firelight adds the most delicious highlights to your visage, nor would I have spent the past few weeks hunting down the idiots who still don't think you deserve a place in this castle."

Granger seemed stunned by his admission and her blush deepened, so he decided to continue digging himself deeper.

"And I'm enough of a selfish bastard to ask that you consider why my life matters so much to you when it matters so little to the rest of wizarding society—because I would take whatever affection, friendship or camaraderie you're comfortable with giving me and would reciprocate in kind. If you let me."

She seemed to be at a loss for words, a million thoughts flitting behind her astonished eyes.

At length she asked in an unsteady voice, "What exactly do you want from me, Malfoy?"

He couldn't help the undercurrent of intensity in his voice when he responded, "Everything you're willing to give."

"And if I wanted to give you nothing?"

Her piercing gaze seemed luminous in the flickering light.

Draco swallowed thickly, "Then I would accept that too—but at least I'd know."

Sensing that she'd as much as given him her answer, he'd been been prepared to move on to another topic of conversation, the sting of rejection beginning to set in, but she spoke before he could articulate his next thoughts.

Clearing her throat, she met his gaze with uncertainty and another emotion he didn't recognize in her eyes, "I—you have to understand how difficult this is for me. At any second I keep expecting you to pull the rug out from under me, to tell me that this is one huge joke at my expense."

He felt a well of self-recrimination rise within him and responded quickly, "You have every reason to think that, but Hermione I swear that I'll never do that to you. Even if you spend the rest of your life telling me to skive off—gods witch, after everything that's happened, after everything you've done for me, how could I ever want to hurt you again?"

She studied his face intently for a few moments, before shaking her head and responding softly, "Merlin help me, but I believe you."

It felt as if things were moving too quickly for Draco to keep up with, so he shut off the part of his mind that kept questioning whether any of this was even real.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked quietly, feeling as if he was suspended above a cliff, left wondering if he would plummet or fly when he launched off its edge.

An odd spark had lit in her eyes, and after a few moments of indecision she seemed to have made up her mind about something.

"The truth is," she said slowly, "I'm intrigued by you too, Draco. Enough to know that I want to explore whatever this is between us, to see what it blossoms into."

Draco felt a frisson of surprise, excitement and desire shoot through him at her admission, and he grinned wolfishly, "So you admit there could be something more between us?"

She cocked her head to the side slightly, "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

This did nothing to wipe the grin from his face, "I'm just saying, love. The offer is always open if you decide you want to explore something more with me."

He felt overtaken by giddiness at the revelation that she could be attracted to him in some way. He'd expected her to brush him off with laughter, sarcasm or disgust—an outright rejection of some sort—which was why her next words left him gobsmacked.

"Let's put that to the test then, shall we?" she asked shakily while twisting her hands in her lap, clearly more nervous than she wanted to let on.

He faltered for a second but quickly regained his stride in their conversation, "Oh? How so?"

She hesitated, her own bravado seeming to falter in the face of whatever it was she was preparing to tell him. Her next words were spoken haltingly.

"The most intimate memory I have of you in this room is a negative one, from the night you... from the night you kidnapped me. It sounds ludicrous, but... I'd like to replace that memory with a better one. I—well, I want you to kiss me."

Barely daring to believe this was truly happening, and acting before his mind could catch up with him to tell him it was a terrible idea, Draco wordlessly rose to his feet and crossed the short distance between them. It stung to be reminded of what he'd done to her in this very common room, but he felt elated by her request all the same. He lowered himself to his knees before her, and their gazes connected, kindred embers smoldering in both of their expressions. He felt momentarily swept away by the heat roaring through his body in successive waves.

"I'd create so many good memories with you if you'd let me," he murmured, entranced.

Tentatively, he reached out with one hand to cup her cheek while he used the other to sweep away a few errant strands of curly hair that had escaped from her braid during the excitement of the night. Touching her felt like a revelation—she was myth made mortal in his hands, the unattainable placed within reach. As he brought his face closer to hers, he caressed her cheek with the pad of one thumb while he traced the shell of her ear with the other, giving her the choice to close the distance between them or pull away.

To his relief, she snaked her arms lightly around his neck and pulled him nearer, angling her legs to the side so they could come closer still. With fingers tangled in his hair, her eyes slid slowly shut, and in the next instant she closed the distance between them completely with the softest touch of her lips against his.

This close, she smelled like heaven and tasted like a morsel of once forbidden fruit. All rational thought fled him in that moment. There was only room in his awareness for the tactile feel of her, the taste and smell of her, the adrenaline-fueled intoxicating whorl of finally touching her, kissing her. Their lips separated but neither moved more than a few millimeters away from the other.

Draco's left hand slid down to caress her neck, and in the next instant he'd gently pressed his lips against hers again, this time more insistently. Her hands flexed against the nape of his neck at the renewed contact, but she didn't push him away—no, she pulled him closer to deepen the kiss.

_Why did I ever deny myself this?_ he wondered during a brief moment of lucidity, drunk on the taste of her and the thrill of the moment.

Curious to know how far she'd let him go, his tongue darted out to briefly lick along the seam of her mouth. He was pleased when her lips parted the second time he did it, and after a few seconds their kiss deepened further. Of course, he was less than pleased when she unthreaded her hands from his hair a minute later and used them to push on his shoulders to break their contact altogether.

"Th–that's... quite enough," she said breathlessly, breathing deeply as if trying to regain her bearings.

Invigorated by the kiss they'd shared, he let a mischievous smirk grow on his face, "Flustered you, have I?"

She rolled her eyes, but still blushed when she responded, "Don't act like I haven't done the same to you."

Draco shrugged and leaned further back while remaining crouched in front of her, "I'm not the one in denial about it."

He loved observing the aftermath of their contact play across her face. From her slightly swollen lips to her glistening eyes and quickened breaths, Draco loved seeing the effect he had on her, loved knowing he was capable of making someone like her come alive with the same fire he now felt.

"By the way, you're not allowed to regret this later. If you wake up tomorrow thinking it was a mistake, well, it wasn't," he said firmly.

"Getting a little ahead of yourself there, aren't you Malfoy? I can decide what to feel for myself, thank you very much."

"I know you, witch—that mind of yours never stops. You'll contort yourself into knots over how terrible of an idea it is to involve yourself with me in any way if I don't preempt you by reminding you that if nothing else, you explored a new way to overcome your trauma tonight. Whatever happens, don't lose sight of that."

She tilted her head to the side slightly and regarded him with bright eyes, "I like you most like this, I think. When I can clearly see the Slytherin opportunist in you working in tandem with your budding altruism to get what you want. It's fascinating to behold."

Thrilled by her words, the corners of his mouth tilted up with the hint of a sly smile, "So you _like_ me, do you?"

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, and Draco found himself distracted by the nervous movement. He knew the velvet feel of those lips now, and he _so_ looked forward to tasting them again—a privilege he would have thought out of reach mere hours earlier.

"It's under consideration," she said while clearly trying to suppress a small smile.

On impulse he reached for her once more, cupping her chin and running his thumb along her bottom lip. He leaned in to press their lips together lightly for another kiss before leaning back a few centimeters. She looked surprised, but not displeased. He filed this observation away with the rest of what he'd learned tonight about her reactions to him.

"Glad to hear it," he said simply before backing off completely and rising to his feet to tower above her. He couldn't help the spike of arousal that hit him upon seeing the hooded look in her eyes as she stared up at him, and with a hint of panic he realized he didn't have much time before the proof of his arousal would become plainly obvious.

She seemed to shake herself out of her daze, "Unexpected tangents aside, we still have quite a bit to discuss, Draco."

It pleased him to hear her call him by his first name. However, her words were a sobering reminder that there was indeed still more work to be done before his role as a Ministry informant was complete, and before he could focus his full attention on equally important things like cultivating whatever was forming between himself and the inimitable witch sitting across from him.

"Look, there are... too many things I still need to tell you in regards to what happened tonight, and about this investigation, but it's half past two in the morning and I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

As if on cue, Hermione yawned at the reminder and stretched her arms out in front of her, trailing off with a sigh.

He continued, "Can the rest of this conversation wait until tomorrow morning before our meeting with McGonagall?"

She nodded and yawned again, "Sure, I'm quite knackered myself now that you mention it."

She heaved herself up from the love seat and stretched her hands upward, wincing slightly as she relieved the stiffness in her joints from the trials of the day.

Draco frowned slightly in concern at the reminder that she herself was still recovering from the aftermath of the Sons of Salazar, and felt a familiar swell of admiration for her in that moment. He now found himself deeply admiring the Gryffindor qualities in her that he'd denigrated for so many years. He also realized that in this case she might easily push herself past the point of potential harm if it meant helping such a worthy cause. Although she'd made huge strides in her recovery in the past few weeks, he decided he'd keep a closer on eye on her. He wanted to help look out for her wellbeing in any way he could, especially now that she was going to be involved in the investigation.

As she turned and took a few steps away from the sitting area, Draco called out, "Hermione."

She turned to face him and his lips rose in a guileless smile.

"Thank you. For everything."

She returned his smile in kind and nodded, "Of course. Good night, Draco."

"Sweet dreams, witch," he murmured huskily, thinking of the dreams he'd most likely be having of her tonight.

He wasn't expecting the deep blush that spread across her face and down her neck in response to his words. It took him a few moments to understand just what could have caused such an embarrassed reaction from her, and his smile transformed into a wicked smirk.

Before he could comment on it, she'd darted across the room and without meeting his eyes muttered, "Yes well, erm, same to you."

"Had any naughty dreams lately, love?" he teased playfully, but she only slammed her bedroom door shut behind her in response.

He chuckled lowly, glad she'd disappeared into her room before the proof of his growing arousal became obvious. He certainly knew who—and what—he'd be dreaming about tonight. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time this year he'd fantasized about the intriguing witch he could now admit had captured what little of his frozen heart remained intact.

_I hope you dream of me too, Hermione._


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione emerged into an empty common room early the following morning still reeling from the seismic shift that had displaced a sizable portion of what she thought she knew about Draco Malfoy. In one fell swoop, his displays of vulnerability, aching sweetness, and wicked playfulness last night had obliterated any vestiges of doubt and suspicion she'd harbored towards him in her heart.

She pensively made her way to the hearth and lit a fire to chase away the early morning chill in the air that always seemed to make her bones ache. As she went about her morning routine of feeding Crookshanks and tidying up the common room to dispel some of her nervous energy before the school day, she continued to replay last night's events in her mind's eye.

How could she continue to deny her attraction to Draco when the only thing she'd wanted to do last night after arriving in their common room was run her fingers through his mussed strands of platinum blond hair—even before he'd confessed a thing?

_And wonder of all wonders I got to do just that, didn't I? Well—it was more than just touching his hair_ , she mused with satisfaction.

Just picturing him kneeling before her as he had last night caused a thrill of excitement to shoot up her spine. _That_ certainly hadn't been a dream—it had really happened only hours ago, exactly in the spot where she and Draco would soon be finishing the grimmer parts of last night's conversation.

When she'd exhausted all reason to nervously flit around the now comfortably warm room, Hermione collapsed with a sigh into the same love seat she'd inhabited last night, her eyes glazed as she relived the unbelievable first kiss she'd shared with the infuriating yet intriguing Slytherin.

Having finished his breakfast rather quickly, Crookshanks jumped onto her lap for some morning loving. She absentmindedly ran her hands through her pet's fur as her mind wandered to the _actual_ naughty dream she'd had of Draco just yesterday morning. It felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened between then and now, and somehow she was closer to making that carnal dream a reality than she would have ever thought possible.

A wry smile stole across her face, _Yesterday morning's version of me would be scandalized by my decisions last night. I was so sure I couldn't possibly be attracted to Draco when I awoke from that dream. Perhaps I'm being naive in taking him at his word, but I'm so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just want to live._

Her fingers stilled against Crookshanks' back when Draco chose that moment to emerge from his bedroom looking far more attractive than he had any right to. She wasn't sure if it was because she was finally allowing herself to see him with fresh eyes, sans bias or prejudice towards who he'd once been, but he was captivating. From the spiked wet ends of his drying hair, to the way his shirt clung to the hints of dampness across his broad chest, to the hint of vulnerable wariness she could see peeking out the edges of his pale gaze... Her mouth nearly watered at the thought that _this_ wizard had earnestly offered his heart to her practically on a platter in the afterglow of yesterday's excitement.

_And I was crazy enough to accept it from him and offer mine in return._

She knew she was getting ahead of herself, knew that thoughts like that might set her up for monumental heartbreak if whatever this was between her and Draco fell flat. It was just a kiss, after all. And yet she wanted to hope, wanted to dream, to wish for the impossible because last night had shown her even _that_ was closer within reach than she ever would have guessed.

His lips curved up with the slightest hint of cheek during her perusal, "Oh don't mind me, I'm just the lucky bloke currently being ogled by wizarding Britain's very own Golden Girl. I'll wait until you're done, love."

Of course Crookshanks chose that moment to scrabble off her lap and make his way over to the freshly showered wizard to wind between his legs in greeting. Draco reached down to say hello to him with a few fond pets as if he and the opportunistic half-Kneazle were _chummy_.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the cute display and responding drolly with a hint of a smile, "A pity you ruined it by opening your big mouth."

He chuckled and shrugged while straightening to his full height, "My sparkling wit is an acquired taste—although you didn't seem to mind the taste you got last night, hmm?"

He finished with an arched brow as he made his way over to the sitting area and took a seat across from her. Hermione blushed inadvertently at his gentle teasing, but she refused to be cowed by his taunts.

She evenly met his gaze which was now level with her own, not at all feigning the heat that bled into her expression, "If only the drivel that usually comes out of that mouth were as sweet."

He grinned, "For you, I can make an exception."

She feigned surprise, "Oh so you can modulate your stupidity, can you?"

He guffawed at that, "Leave it to you to wrap a barb around a compliment so expertly."

At this she really did smile, and her expression softened, "It's a privilege reserved for a special few, you know."

Some of the laughter bled from his expression, leaving behind a look of soft fondness and excited anticipation. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen Draco's eyes looking quite this bright before—perhaps with the exception of last night. He looked as excited to see her as she felt to see him. It felt surreal to think of all the previous interactions they'd had this year at school, absent of any of the playful levity and anticipation she now felt in his presence.

_Amazing how a few hours can change everything._

"And just what makes _me_ so special now?" he drawled, clearly teasing her as he leaned back into his seat and crossed one long leg over the other.

His question gave her pause. As she thought through the answer, some of her levity was replaced by the sobering realization that this would likely be a question she'd be answering for quite a few people if whatever this was between them turned into something enduring.

With a mischievous gleam in her eye she responded with just the hint of a teasing lilt, "You're the poster child for a reformed Slytherin—publicly, I'll say _that's_ what endeared you to me. Between you and me though, that kiss last night certainly helped too."

A cross of smugness and hunger bled into his gaze, "It _was_ good, wasn't it? There's more where that came from, witch."

She rolled her eyes again—something she found herself doing often in Draco's presence—and decided now was as good a time as ever to get down to business.

"Much as I would love to continue stroking your ego, we have a lot to discuss before we head to McGonagall's office this morning."

His gaze darkened at her words and he muttered, "No talk of stroking my _anything_. Do you _want_ me to lose my mind so early in the day?"

A soft pink glow bled into her cheeks at the implication in his words, "Mind out of the gutter, Head Boy."

He conceded with a sly grin, "We'll be back there soon enough, I suppose."

Ignoring the anticipation his words seeded in her mind, she decided to get straight to the point, "I'm less bothered by it today, but why didn't you or anyone else tell me anything about what's been happening?"

He considered her question for a few moments, and in a more serious tone responded, "For starters, you were still recovering at St. Mungo's when the investigation began. I doubt anyone wanted to place additional pressure on you given what you... given what you'd gone through."

_I suppose that makes sense, but..._

"You suffered through it too," she said pointedly.

"It wasn't as bad for me, and you know it," he parried, "Hermione— _you were unconscious for days_."

With a hint of ill-concealed resentment she asked, "So what, I was too much of a liability to keep in the loop?"

She knew she was being unfair, but as someone who valued knowledge above many things, it irked her to know she'd been kept in the dark about something so important. What if she'd been targeted again? Aside from her now second-nature state of vigilance, she would have been taken by surprise should she have unwittingly been caught in the crosshairs of the silent war apparently being waged at Hogwarts yet again.

"No, you just aren't a Slytherin nor a criminal like me," he said in a matter of fact tone, running a hand through his hair in a way that was _far_ too distracting for the gravity of this conversation, "Unlike you, I have a lot to atone for. I originally made my offer to spy for the Ministry when I thought it might help my chances of staying out of Azkaban. But even after your press conference saved my arse, I jumped at the opportunity when McGonagall conveyed the Ministry's interest in working together after all."

Hermione felt compassion lance through her, "Is that how you really see yourself? As a criminal? Someone defined by his house identity?"

His smirk was self-deprecating, and he evaded her question, "Old habits die hard. It's one thing to say I've changed, but not a damned soul will believe it until my behavior reflects my word."

In a gentler tone he added, "My point is, if you were purposely kept out of this investigation, it's because you've fought enough already."

"I just don't want to be coddled," she said with a sigh, "Nor do I want to be seen as weaker because of what happened to me."

Draco shook his head, "After the number you did on Mulciber, I'd wager more people _fear_ you now as opposed to viewing you as weaker for it."

She paused at his words—that hadn’t occurred to her before. It was an odd thing to consider—wholly unexpected. It was one thing to be feared on the battlefield where one's magical prowess was key to survival, but this sounded different.

“Are people really scared of me because of what I did to him?” she asked, disbelief bleeding through every word.

He nodded, “Some people are, sure. Why does that bother you, though? It comes with the territory when you’re a powerful wielder of magic, don’t you think?”

She sputtered, “It was self-defense! I didn’t think what I did to Mulciber was all that out of the ordinary...”

Draco shrugged, “Mind magic is a realm few people fuck with because the potential consequences are terrible if you mess up. You’re the only person on record in a few hundred years to have reversed a mental invasion and incapacitated your opponent’s mind while waging a degenerative assault. It can’t be helped if people take notice of your exceptional magic, love.”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” she murmured lost in thought, still unaccustomed to the idea of being regarded in such a way.

He piped up before she could go too far down that train of thought, "I personally think it adds to your appeal. Brightest witch of her age is one thing. Most powerful witch of her age has an altogether more enticing ring to it, though, don't you think?"

At length, she responded ruefully, "One act of mental assault is hardly enough to qualify me as the most powerful witch of _anything_ , Draco."

He shook his head, "I don't think you understand. The brand of _Legilimency_ Mulciber wielded was experimental, just like the _Imperius_ they used to control me. Whatever magic you overcame to save yourself, it wasn't just your run-of-the-mill spellwork—it was advanced stuff. It's part of why this investigation is so important—the magical feats these otherwise middling wizards were able to accomplish shouldn't have been possible given their previously known levels of magical proficiency."

This definitely gave her pause, "That _is_ curious."

Before she could continue, Draco cut in, “Speaking of mind magic, there are a few things I neglected to tell you last night about what I saw in the minds of those two sixth years.”

“Like what?” she queried, attention piqued. She couldn't exactly blame him for leaving certain things out considering the unexpected direction their night had taken.

He ran his hands through his hair, this time in a clear sign of agitation, "A few weeks ago I recruited Blaise to help me, and he agreed to become a Ministry informant along with me. He's been our eyes and ears on the inside, while I've done reconnaissance from the outside. Last night I discovered he's the reason I was ambushed. He–he betrayed me."

Although a small part of Hermione wanted to feel incensed by the fact that he'd thought to involve _Blaise_ in the investigation before he involved _her_ , she could understand why he might have made that decision. Blaise was a Slytherin too, after all. It wasn't like _she_ was about to traipse off to join the Sons of Salazar.

She simultaneously felt another swell of compassion towards the wizard sitting across from her. She couldn't tell definitively if the impassive front he was presenting to her now reflected what was going on beneath the surface, but she didn't think so. She didn't suppose it _ever_ felt all that good to be betrayed by someone you thought was your friend.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured.

He shrugged, trying to convey an air of nonchalance, but even now with the small bit of insight she had into his inner thought processes, she knew it was probably a front. Draco Malfoy might try to present himself as an unflappable force, but she knew better than that.

With a sigh he said somewhat cryptically, "I should have known that Blaise's responses under _Veritaserum_ would be malleable. Truth serum only reflects what you believe to be true in that moment in time. I became overconfident because of it. The initiation ritual that took place in the forest last night was a front—Blaise's real initiation involved betraying my position as a Ministry informant. It's why the Sons of Salazar wanted retribution last night. It's how they knew where to find me."

Hermione couldn't say she was necessarily surprised by this revelation. Slytherins weren't exactly known to be trustworthy in general, after all. But one of Draco's few remaining friends at Hogwarts had betrayed him last night, and she knew better than to kick him while he was down because of it. Yet somehow she also knew he wouldn't appreciate pity or sympathy.

"I wonder what they did to compel him to betray you?" she asked quietly.

He laughed caustically, "Probably not all that much, if I'm being honest. With or without me, he'll get what the Ministry promised him as long as he testifies against as many people as possible in the process."

"You mean to tell me he won't even be reprimanded for what he did last night to put you in harm's way?" she asked incredulously, her hands clenching with the stirrings of anger.

Draco chuckled darkly, "Hermione, he'll most likely be _lauded_ for it. Even if it dragged you into the fray, we nabbed _twelve_ people last night. That's a not inconsiderable number."

It was the resignation in his voice that caused a fire to flare within the depths of her heart.

"I never thought I'd find myself here, but thank Merlin Pansy warned me to look out for you, Draco," Hermione said earnestly, relief flooding through her in waves knowing how close he'd come to a far more terrible fate.

He cocked his head to the side, "Right, she's the one who warned you about last night, wasn't she? Tell me more about that."

Hermione obliged him, telling him about the note she'd received from Pansy early yesterday morning, along with the planning she'd done with Neville afterwards. He listened intently while she recounted what her meeting with Pansy had been like, and he peppered questions throughout her story to ensure he understood every detail about what had happened.

"And she just walked off like that?" he asked suspiciously when she'd finished.

Hermione nodded with exasperation, "Well, she took one last opportunity to insult me, but yes, she walked off after that."

Draco shook his head in confusion, "I didn't ever think I'd find myself here, but somehow Blaise is the one on my shit list, and Pansy is the one who may have redeemed herself."

"Why do you think Pansy's going against her father's wishes?" Hermione wondered out loud.

"Considering she asked you not to say anything about it to anyone, she's probably trying to play both sides. That's a dangerous game to be playing, though," Draco said pensively.

"But what's her endgame?" Hermione asked out loud.

He met her gaze with a grimace after another beat, and ignored her question to say, "That's not our most pressing question. If you can believe it, there's even worse news than Blaise betraying me."

She huffed with incredulity—another emotion she felt far too often in his presence, "Let's hear it, then."

"Based on what I pulled from the minds of Caswell and Burke last night, there are at least five non-Slytherin students currently under the _Imperius_ curse at Hogwarts, and another three who are sleeper cells for the Sons of Salazar. It's the first thing I plan to tell McGonagall when we speak with her this morning."

This news left Hermione reeling, giving her flashbacks to Mad Eye and Barty Crouch Jr.'s impersonation of him right under everyone's noses. She still felt ridiculous for never having noticed a thing. She brought her mind back to the present, feeling terrible for the multitude of students whose dignity and agency had been hijacked in a similar way.

"Why didn't you mention any of this last night?" she asked unsteadily.

He ran his fingers through his hair for the third time since he'd entered the common room— _yes_ , she was counting, "For one thing, I wanted to examine the veracity of the memories I pulled before making such an important accusation. Considering everything that happened last night, I wanted to give myself some time to sleep on it to make sure I wasn't working off of false or modified memories. This isn't news to be taken lightly."

She supposed she could see where he was coming from. It was a horrifying prospect all around. The war was supposed to have ended months ago, but the tactics the Sons of Salazar were resorting to indicated that they didn't think it had ever ended, and they were behaving accordingly. Chills erupted along Hermione's arms despite the warmth of the fire crackling nearby, and she rubbed her arms reflexively. His eyes seemed to catch her nervous movement—as they seemed to catch _everything_.

"Do you think there could be more victims at Hogwarts that even Caswell and Burke don't know about?" she asked cautiously.

Draco nodded grimly, "Could be. It's why I'm going to suggest to McGonagall that everyone involved have their mind read by a professional from the Ministry. Merlin knows how many ways the Sons of Salazar have infiltrated Hogwarts by now."

She shuddered at the thought, once again glad that she'd been there to prevent the worst from happening.

"I'm so happy I found you," she said absentmindedly, only half-aware the words had slipped out of her mouth as her mind raced with everything Draco had revealed so far.

He smiled softly at her declaration, "Hermione, I don't know what I would have done without you in the past few months. I don't deserve you witch, but I'll be damned if I'm forced to let you go anytime soon."

Pleased despite herself, she murmured, "You're quite the sweet talker, Draco. You could've caught a lot more flies with honey as opposed to the vinegar you kept spitting for so many years, you know."

His gaze darkened, "Maybe I didn't want to attract any flies at all."

She smirked, "Leave it to you to provide the antisocial rebuttal to flies and honey."

He shrugged and with a self-satisfied undercurrent in his voice said, "Considering that strategy led me to this moment with you, I can't really say it led me astray."

She felt a flare of desire blossom within her at his words. How was he so good at saying just the right thing to make her so flustered? It was far too early for this shite!

_Oh shut up, you love it,_ she thought mutinously.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried to recenter herself, something she thought she'd be doing often in Draco's presence from now on.

"I suppose all that remains before we head to McGonagall's office is to talk about how you think I can best be involved in the investigation moving forward," she said thoughtfully.

He tutted, "Actually, there are two things remaining. The first, as you mentioned, has to do with your involvement in the investigation from now on. The second however, involves the Marauder's map you were so quick to gloss over last night."

He was sly, she would give him that. And really, she should have expected nothing less from him, all things considered. He was probably mystified by the map and the advantage it had granted her last night. Understandably, he probably wanted whatever advantage he could get when it came to the Sons of Salazar at Hogwarts too.

_Can I blame him?_

Despite how much she knew it would infuriate Harry, Hermione was more than half-tempted to give in and reveal the map's secrets to Draco. It wasn't as if he didn't have a worthy cause, after all. He'd more than proven he would wield it with the care such a magical artifact deserved.

_What's holding me back then?_ she asked herself.

"You're right," she said, seeking out his gaze, "I didn't tell you all that much about it, did I?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her frank response. Abruptly she rose from her seat and crossed the common room to her bedroom door. Wordlessly, she disappeared inside her quarters for a few seconds and rummaged around in her trunk before she reemerged clutching a nondescript scroll of parchment. She made her way to the desk closest to her, and gestured for Draco to join her.

When he came to stand beside her she spread the scroll with one hand and said, "It's actually quite simple, the way this works. Here, I'll show you."

She slid her wand out, then tapped it lightly against the parchment while saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

In the next instant familiar black ink had bled across the parchment to reveal the map's contents.

After a few seconds she tapped against it again while saying, "Mischief managed."

Together, they watched as the map bled back into an unassuming blank facade.

"Here, you try it," she said while gesturing at the map, stepping to the side and pulling Draco to stand in front of it.

His hand tentatively reached out to cover hers where it was splayed across the map to keep the parchment from rolling closed, and he pressed it there to keep hers in place. In the process, he stepped close behind her, his proximity overloading her senses and driving away most rational thought. She felt a thrill of excitement course through her at the feel of his larger hand engulfing hers.

Using his other hand, he pulled his wand from the holster against his flank and wrapped his arm around her side so that he was nearly hugging her from behind. With his lips hovering only centimeters from her right ear, he murmured the incantations and repeated her actions, both of them watching as the map responded to his prodding.

He paused for a few moments after he'd activated and deactivated the map himself, seemingly content to stand there holding her for a few seconds longer.

"Feel free to use this map anytime you need it," she said sincerely, her skin prickling where it made contact with his, separated only by a few layers of fabric. Without even realizing she was doing it, she leaned back slightly into him as she said this.

_Why does this feel so right?_ she wondered to herself.

"Harry may not be happy about it at first when he hears I let you use it," she added while staring ahead, "But he'll come around eventually—I hope..."

His lips ghosted against her cheek while the hand that was still cupping hers threaded their fingers together. She felt goosebumps erupt along her arms at the feel of his mouth against her skin, distracting her from all thoughts of Harry for the time being. In a quick movement, Draco sheathed his wand before using the hand he was holding to turn her to face him so there was barely any space left separating them. There was an emotion she didn't recognize burning in the depths of his storm gray eyes as she stared up at him.

"Thank you for trusting me," he said earnestly, his hands rising to cup her face gently as he sought her gaze, his thumbs drawing lazy circles against her cheeks.

As her eyes locked with his molten gaze, she rather thought Harry's wrath would be quite worth this particular moment. She might as well commit to it fully. With sure movements, she reached up to hold Draco's face in turn, gently pulling him down so he was closer to her height. She searched his gaze for a moment before she brought their lips together, savoring the taste of him one again.

_I could get used to this,_ she mused happily as her eyes slid shut.

This time, he let her lead their kiss completely, seeming content to follow along with whatever pace she wanted to set while his left hand made its way lower to settle against her waist. She gave in to the hunger and curiosity that had crept into her awareness as he'd surrounded her while learning to use the map. Deciding not to waste any time, she licked his mouth with an inviting swipe and was quickly admitted past his smiling lips. The few minutes they spent exploring each other's mouths felt like a pleasant eternity, their tongues meeting in a playful dance, but eventually she pulled away with a gasp.

"Draco, we're going to be late!"

He chuckled after glancing at the clock, "At this rate we're going to be right on time, love."

Her lips curled into a smile and she shook her head, "Not if we keep standing here dawdling."

With a smirk, he leaned in close again and murmured, "It's worth being late to have you like this."

His hand squeezed her waist for emphasis before disengaging.

_I hate that I'm always blushing around him now,_ she grumbled internally as she put more space between them, _It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press._

He strode across the room and into his quarters to grab his robes while she did the same. Hermione left the Marauder's map rolled up on the table, deciding she and Draco would figure out the best place to store it later today.

"We didn't really touch upon how you'll contribute to the investigation, did we?" he reminded her once they reconvened in the common room.

She shrugged, "We can talk about it more in McGonagall's office since I'm sure she'll have plenty to say on the subject."

He agreed with her, and as they made their way past the portrait and into the hallway, Hermione was once again struck by the odd change of course her life had taken.

_What a difference one day makes,_ she thought to herself as she snuck a glance at the wizard who was living proof that second chances were definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** First of all, thank you so much for your response to the last chapter. It was wonderful to hear what everyone thought about such a formative scene in this story, and I'm happy so many of you understood what I was trying to accomplish with it. Secondly, last chapter and this chapter were originally supposed to be one chapter, but as you can see there was a lot of ground to cover. This chapter has a lot of dialogue, but rest assured that we jump back into the action by next chapter! Once again, thanks for your attention, it's super encouraging!


	16. Chapter 16

"Please take a seat, both of you."

Despite the exhaustion visible in the lines of her face and the slight slump of her shoulders, it was plain to see that McGonagall still had enough energy to feel displeased with Draco this morning, as he'd expected. Although she cast a few furtive glances in Hermione's direction, it was for him that she seemed to reserve the lion's share of her disappointment. They'd only just stepped into her office, yet he could already tell what the Headmistress' first order of business would be.

_All things considered, I suppose I can understand why she might think I dragged Hermione into this mess._

Between delivering the unconscious students to McGonagall's office, speaking with Aurors, and later helping round up the remaining Slytherins last night, Draco hadn't found the time to explain the finer details about how or why Hermione had found him unconscious in a school hallway in the middle of the night. He certainly hadn't been about to explain anything to McGonagall in the presence of the very housemates who'd plotted to kill him or at the very least maim him _again_.

However, both he and Hermione _had_ provided their statements to the Aurors who had arrived at Hogwarts a little after one in the morning at McGonagall's behest. They group of four Aurors had apprehended the offending students and searched their rooms for incriminating evidence, and Auror Prather had scheduled a longer debriefing from Draco for the following evening. There had been no time for asides with McGonagall amidst the flurry of activity.

Having settled into her seat as they did the same, McGonagall sighed wearily, "Despite my own personal misgivings, you both did exemplary jobs last night, not only in aiding the Ministry investigation into the Sons of Salazar, but also in living up to your roles and responsibilities as Head Boy and Head Girl. Your combined efforts have made the castle grounds safer for every student on this campus, and for that I thank you. Fifty points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Something in Draco softened at the older woman's words despite the stern tilt to her mouth. He appreciated her praise, knowing it came despite the very real disappointment she currently felt towards him. In that moment he realized McGonagall's displeasure was most likely coming from a more personal place than he'd originally estimated. He supposed Hermione was probably the closest thing McGonagall had to a favorite student at Hogwarts, and realized the Headmistress' concern might be rooted in something akin to motherly affection towards the younger witch.

Both he and Hermione thanked McGonagall with surprise evident in their voices.

"Having said that," the Headmistress continued, "Mr. Malfoy, I'm quite disappointed that you chose to entangle Miss Granger in this investigation despite your repeated instructions not to do so."

Despite the annoyance that crawled up his throat, Draco opened his mouth to respond with an attempt at diplomacy. However, Hermione beat him to it. She spoke in a polite but firm tone.

"Headmistress, with all due respect, _I_ should have been given that choice. While I understand everyone's initial motivations for not involving me, it seems like a moot point now. Besides, I'm afraid your disappointment is misplaced. Draco didn't drag me into this investigation—Pansy Parkinson did. Without her warning, I would never have known to look for him last night at a time when he obviously needed the help."

Draco couldn't believe he was watching Hermione stand up to the Headmistress, much less on his behalf. It was one thing for her to admit she was attracted to him and kiss him in the privacy of their rooms, but it was altogether surreal for her to be defending him to _Minerva McGonagall_ of all people. What next? Would she defend him to Potter and Weasely, too? The very thought seemed inconceivable.

Hermione's words gave McGonagall pause, and the older woman's expression became contrite, "I apologize if I've offended you, Miss Granger. Thank you for clarifying. Any secrecy you've encountered regarding this investigation was borne purely out of concern for your wellbeing. However, I can see why you would find it insulting. Rest assured you will no longer be kept in the dark."

Draco noted McGonagall's willingness to change her mind based on new information—it made him respect her a little more. He saw Hermione nod gratefully out of the corner of his eye.

"Thank you, Minerva."

McGonagall turned to Draco, "Mr. Malfoy, I apologize to you as well for jumping to the wrong conclusions."

Placated by her gesture, he nodded, "Of course, Headmistress. Apology accepted."

Her curiosity piqued, McGonagall turned to Hermione and proceeded to question her about her encounter with Pansy. Hermione repeated what she'd told Draco this morning, and she wondered out loud once again why the Slytherin girl had gone behind her father's back to thwart his plans.

_Why indeed. What's your angle, Pansy?_

McGonagall's attention once again turned to him as he sat to the left of Hermione wearing a contemplative expression.

"Mr. Malfoy, have you prepared the memories you plan to give to Auror Prather later today?"

He nodded, remembering just how difficult it had been to concentrate enough to extract those memories last night after he'd retreated to his bedroom. Not that he was complaining—he wouldn't have traded his kiss with Hermione for _anything_.

"Yes," he answered, gesturing to one of the hidden pockets in his cloak, "I brought them with me, just in case."

"Excellent. Last night you briefly mentioned the _Legilimency_ you performed on Victor Caswell and Clarence Burke after your skirmish. I'd like to review what you saw in their minds, specifically what you learned about Quartius Parkinson."

Draco extracted the wraparound leather clutch within which he'd carefully labeled and stashed the vials containing his memories of last night. With nimble fingers, he unrolled the supple cut of leather and plucked two vials out of the line-up of six that lay before him. He handed them to McGonagall, knowing the memories would do a better job of informing her of the _Imperiused_ students still at Hogwarts. He wondered if it would be as much of a nasty shock for her as it had been for him, and decided it was best to warn her now.

"Headmistress," he began hesitantly, "There's something else. I hesitated to say anything until now because I wanted to be sure these weren't false or modified memories, so I'm curious to know if you think they're credible. Based on what I saw in the minds of Caswell and Burke, there seem to be a number of students at Hogwarts who are currently under the _Imperius_ curse, as well as students in other houses who are also involved in Sons of Salazar activity."

McGonagall looked stunned, but she composed herself quickly, "Very well. Please bear with me while I review these memories for myself. We'll discuss their veracity, as well as our next steps once I've finished."

Both students nodded, and Draco watched as the Headmistress rose and made her way to the pensieve where only a few weeks ago he'd relived one of the worst moments of his life—and perhaps of Hermione's as well. His gaze was unwittingly drawn to the curly haired witch sitting to his right. Her brows were furrowed and her expression was grave, her mind clearly elsewhere. While he understood what had motivated her shift in mood, it was jarring nonetheless to see that all traces of playful warmth had disappeared from her visage in the space of a few minutes.

He waited until McGonagall had leaned over the pensieve and entered the first of the two memories before leaning closer to Hermione and quietly murmuring, "A knut for your thoughts?"

She turned to look at him thoughtfully, and he could tell she was deciding whether to tell him what was on her mind or brush him off. He was relieved when she seemed to have decided on the former—it meant progress.

"Considering the number of students you mentioned who are currently under the _Imperius,_ I'm wondering just how long they've been under the curse, and what their ultimate purpose was meant to be. What if this started even before the Final Battle? It's terrible to think that for some people the war never really ended."

Draco grimaced, reminded of his own experience with the _Imperius_ this year, even if he technically remembered none of it firsthand. He'd wondered the same thing since last night, and wished he'd given himself more time to delve into the minds of both 6th years. Of course, the Ministry would pick up where he'd left off, of that he could be sure. He knew from personal experience just how thorough they could be.

"Infiltration seems to have been high on their list of priorities. I can only imagine the kind of intelligence gathering and coercion the Sons of Salazar have been able to accomplish with five students in different houses under their complete control," he said grimly.

"I suppose given last night's round-up as well as today's, we'll know soon enough."

Hermione seemed to shudder, and before he realized he was doing it, his hand darted out to squeeze her arm gently, his thumb rubbing against her skin in slow, mesmerizing circles. Her shoulders relaxed minutely, and he pulled his hand back, satisfied so simple of a touch could provide some measure of temporary comfort for her.

They were both distracted by the sound of McGonagall straightening from her position over the pensieve. Clearly distracted by what she'd seen in Draco's first memory, she made short work of siphoning it back into its vial, and then pouring the second memory out. She glanced up at Hermione absentmindedly and gestured to her.

"Miss Granger, I realize now I should have asked you to view both of these memories with me for the sake of efficiency—unless Mr. Malfoy has already shared them with you?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, I have yet to see them, Headmistress."

She rose to walk across the office, stopping to stand facing McGonagall at the other end of the pensieve.

McGonagall nodded, "Very well then. We shall view this one together, and you can watch the remaining memory once we've finished."

Hermione reached out to hold the older woman's hand, and without further ado, they delved into the pensieve together. They stayed there for nearly fifteen minutes, and when they emerged Hermione's somber expression had transformed into a cross between consternation and fury. McGonagall's expression contained a hint of that ire, but was much more composed as she bottled the memory they'd now all seen. She gingerly handed the other vial to Hermione for her perusal.

The Headmistress' expression was as serious as he'd ever seen it as she sat behind her desk once more, and handed Draco the vial in her hand.

"I've been too harsh with you, Mr. Malfoy," she said quietly while meeting his gaze with a measure of contrition in her eyes, "At the beginning of the school year I offered you a chance to prove you could be a better person, someone with integrity. Despite your own horrific experiences at Hogwarts this year, you've already more than risen to the occasion. I'm proud of you, Draco. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Some remote part of him wondered if sleep deprivation was getting to her, because she had just _complimented_ him. _Him._ Minerva McGonagall had just told Draco Malfoy that she was proud of him. First his breakthrough with Hermione, and now this. It felt almost too good to be true.

He allowed a sliver of the pride he felt to bleed into the curve of his lips as he responded, "I appreciate your confidence in me, Headmistress. I hope my actions continue to reflect the sincerity of my motivations."

Her lips quirked into a frown, "You may be the exception in your house presently, Mr. Malfoy, but I hope you can serve as an example and a mentor for your younger housemates. They desperately need it."

Draco nodded, "Of course, I'll do my best."

Having finished viewing the memory, Hermione straightened and bottled it only a few moments later. Neither the consternation nor fury had abated from her expression—if anything, they'd intensified. Despite the dire circumstances, he still found himself attracted to the fire in his fellow Head Girl's eyes. Clearly agitated, she stalked back to McGonagall's desk and handed Draco the memory before taking a seat.

"There is no doubt in my mind that the memories you pulled last night are real, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said with another frown as she reached across her desk to gather some parchment, a quill, and ink.

She began scribbling a note while she spoke, "I trust in their credibility enough that I'll be summoning another team of Aurors here immediately. Under no circumstances do I want either of you apprehending any of these remaining students on your own, is that understood?"

Draco nodded and murmured his agreement immediately, as did Hermione from beside him, although she sounded more reluctant.

Satisfied with their answers, McGonagall continued, "All twelve of the Slytherin students caught last night were taken to the Ministry for interrogation. They were not given the chance to return to their rooms, and a forensics team spent a few hours earlier this morning in the dungeons sifting through their things for evidence."

Here she paused, "Based on the information that has already been conveyed to me about those interrogations and searches, ten of the twelve students have been expelled. The eleventh—Chelsea Travers— is still pending further investigation, and the twelfth is Mr. Zabini."

Here, she gave Draco a meaningful look, "As you know, Blaise Zabini has been granted immunity and will not be punished for his involvement at all, as he was an informant that you recruited, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco nodded reluctantly, the acidic taste of bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of how well Blaise had played him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione's hand twitch in her lap, and he wondered if she'd been tempted to reach out to him the way he'd comforted her earlier. The possibility alone warmed him slightly.

"Although it happened overnight, it is safe to assume that news of their expulsion and detainment has already begun to spread. This is the largest student expulsion in Hogwarts history, after all," she finished grimly, "It's not beyond the realm of possibility that we'll experience fallout from those displeased with our methods, so I advise you both to be on the lookout."

McGonagall wordlessly summoned the tawny owl that had been perched half-asleep in another corner of the room, and briskly tied the note she'd written to its leg after whispering a destination to it. In the next moment it had flown up, up, and then through an open window high in the tower within which the Headmistress' office and quarters were located.

Draco was surprised at how little Hermione had spoken so far, but with a surreptitious glance at her he realized she was deep in thought, perhaps still synthesizing not only what she'd seen in his memories, but also what she'd learned this morning and last night. It was definitely a lot to process. After all, they'd just gotten ten students expelled—potentially more.

He also knew that some of what she'd seen in those memories involved unsavory talk about her. The Sons of Salazar may hold a grudge against him for his betrayal to the pureblood cause, but they hated Hermione simply for existing. That hatred had only grown upon her escape from their ambush in September. He hoped she didn't let any of what she'd heard in those memories affect her. It was all a bunch of drivel anyway.

The trio spent the next few minutes discussing the kind of surveillance McGonagall wanted Draco and Hermione to undertake in the coming days. It was decidedly tamer than any of the reconnaissance he'd been doing in his free time during the previous few weeks, but the game had changed now that most of the major players had been caught and those that remained were underground. Besides, he was pleased that he and Hermione would be working together on something less dangerous than what he'd previously been involved with, although it was equally as important.

By the time Minerva dismissed them with a reminder to grab some food before breakfast ended if they were hungry, Draco felt decidedly more optimistic about the course of events he and Hermione had set into motion last night. They bid the Headmistress goodbye while she stayed behind to meet with the Aurors she'd summoned. With a lighter step in his walk, he and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall to discuss what they'd learned.

* * *

Hermione spent the walk to breakfast torn between casting furtive glances at Draco's sharp profile, and fretting about what to tell her friends. As satisfying as it felt to finally know just what the hell was going on behind closed doors, it meant she now had to conceal the same secrets Draco, Harry, and McGonagall had concealed from her. As such, she hadn't yet decided what, if anything, she would tell her Gryffindor friends about what had transpired last night.

Draco leaned in and teased lightly from beside her, "If the gears in your mind were spinning any faster there'd be steam billowing out of your ears."

She snorted lightly, and a small smile crept onto her face despite her dour thoughts, "In that case, I can only imagine the glacial pace the gears in your mind must be accustomed to spinning at."

He chuckled lowly at her quip and shook his head, "Touché."

As they walked through the mostly empty corridors, he leaned in and murmured, "Thanks for speaking up for me in McGonagall's office, by the way. It was... unexpected, but much appreciated."

She nodded, "Of course, I wasn't about to let her blame you for something that wasn't your fault, Draco."

With a fond smile, she parted ways with him at the entrance to the Great Hall, and took a seat by Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Neville near the far end of the Gryffindor table. They greeted her warmly, surprised she'd chosen such a busy time for breakfast, given her usual preference for early mornings. Shrugging, she grabbed some toast and began to butter it while explaining that she and Draco had been meeting with the Headmistress for Heads' business beforehand.

As it turned out, Hermione needn't have worried about what to reveal about the previous night's activities. The mail began to arrive only a few minutes after she'd taken her seat at the Gryffindor table. With a frisson of shock, Hermione learned that The Daily Prophet had done the work for her with a large front-page headline proclaiming in sensationalized grainy print that the largest expulsion in Hogwarts history had taken place overnight.

> _"10 Slytherins Expelled from Hogwarts After Overnight Sting Operation Reveals Connections to Pureblood-Obsessed Secret Society"_

Her friends' gazes shot to hers in shock as they noted what the headline said, as did the eyes of the rest of Gryffindor table as the news spread like wildfire.

"Blimey," Dean whispered with wide eyes.

"Did you know about this?" Ginny asked her with round eyes, seemingly caught somewhere between glee, shock and incredulity.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably before nodding, "I did as of last night. But because it involves official Ministry business, I wouldn't have been able to tell you much if anything about it even if I'd known earlier. Looks like I no longer need to worry about that, though."

Everyone's eyes were furtively drawn to the Slytherin table—which looked noticeably emptier than usual this morning—before their gazes darted back to their own plates. A flurry of whispers erupted across the Great Hall in response to the news, while various people craned their necks to get a better view of who was missing.

Curious to know just how the information had spread so quickly, Hermione scanned the front-page article. It quickly became apparent that the parents of some of the expelled students' had launched a preemptive defense to court public opinion via the Daily Prophet. The first hints of dread begin to drip down her spine as she noted just how much detail the article delved into, including mentioning her involvement in what had transpired.

Although her involvement made sense within her capacity as Head Girl, she didn't like how bright of a spotlight had been cast upon her with this publicity. She had brief flashbacks to 4th year when Rita Skeeter's scathing article about her supposed involvement with Harry had caused a torrent of hate mail to pile upon her. If anything, today's revelation seemed like something that was _more_ likely to invite that kind of ire upon her.

Interestingly, there was comparatively little mention of Draco considering the outsized role he'd played in what had happened last night, and considering the role he'd played in the school's previous scandal last month. Somehow, it appeared his cover hadn't been completely blown. Either that or public attention towards him was being purposely diverted towards her instead with this article. Her eyes darted to the Slytherin table, where Draco appeared to be speaking lowly with Pansy, his shoulders stiff with tension.

Intrigued, she surreptitiously watched them while wishing she knew what they were talking about. What could possibly have motivated Pansy to essentially forsake her own father? She had to have known what warning Hermione would mean—what it could lead to. Hermione couldn't tell if Pansy's actions had been driven by stupidity or craftiness, and the insidious uncertainty was eating away at her.

Hermione's thoughts were drawn to what she'd seen in both of Draco's memories earlier in McGonagall's office. It had been shocking to see the extent to which the Sons of Salazar had infiltrated Hogwarts, and to hear the extent to which they hated her and people like her. What had really sickened her though, was to hear how they had mocked what she'd gone through. Although she knew better than to let them get to her, it still pained her to hear her suffering reduced to the butt of a few cruel jokes.

Distracted by her thoughts, Hermione only belatedly noticed the numerous owls circling her near the tail end of the morning's mail delivery. With mounting horror, she noticed the trio of steaming red envelopes that three of the owls were carrying, and slid her wand into her grip despite knowing there was nothing she could realistically do to stem the tirade she knew was coming.

The smoking envelopes erupted in tandem in a cacophony of screeching diatribes a scant two meters above her head, spewing the most hateful chorus of rubbish she'd had the displeasure of hearing since her last brush with the Sons of Salazar. Left with little other recourse, Hermione desperately covered her ears with her hands along with the rest of Gryffindor table, wincing at the intensity of the combined Howlers. After a few more unpleasant seconds of hate-filled shouting, the envelopes exploded in an angry shower of ruby sparks and red smoke, leaving most of the Great Hall's inhabitants in a daze.

Feeling weary beyond measure, Hermione dimly noted the horned owl that had begun to swoop towards her in the aftermath of that hateful spectacle. A small box wrapped in parchment and twine was dangling from one of the owl's legs, and the dread that had long since coalesced along her spine began to wrap around her torso in suffocating bands of tension.

_Were the Howlers just a distraction?_

The thought had barely formed when out of the corner of her eye Hermione noted another two packages of similar appearance bearing down on the Gryffindor table in evenly spaced increments. They were held by similarly imposing horned owls, and something about their convenient timing struck Hermione as far too suspicious. Cursing as a sense of foreboding shot through her and choosing to trust her intuition, she bolted up from her seat while pointing her wand at the innocuous looking boxes.

In perhaps the quickest display of magic she was sure she'd ever achieved, she successively cast three lightning-quick summoning spells at the small packages and ran towards the entrance to the Great Hall while towing them behind her amidst growing confusion all around her. At this point mere seconds had passed since the Howlers had exploded in a conveniently flashy and distracting display of smoke and light.

She knew it was beyond reckless, but in the split-second of time she'd had to consider her options, she'd known this would be the one that put the least amount of students in danger if the boxes were indeed as dangerous as she feared. If nothing came of this, well, better safe than sorry—even if it gained her a reputation for being a worrywart. In the next second, she whipped the packages ahead of her through the entrance to the Great Hall, and into the empty foyer beyond, ignoring the shouts of confusion and the questions that were being called out behind her.

The three boxes had barely crossed the room's threshold when they exploded in a deafening blast, erupting in bursts of billowing violet powder that defied their diminutive size. The _Protego_ Hermione scrambled to cast at the last second was no match for the concussive power of the combined explosions.

She had milliseconds to hope that her prescience had potentially prevented a far worse outcome for her housemates and fellow students before her field of vision was quickly overtaken by an imposing wall of glittering purple. In the next half-instant, she was blown backwards by the combined force of the explosions. The world dimmed to a concentrated point of violent purple light before she was inexorably dragged into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** As always, I deeply appreciate your thoughts and attention as I continue to explore this dramione daydream. I'm not usually one for cliffhangers, but this was the best place to end this chapter without launching into another few thousand words, which would have made it monstrously long. Until next time!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This chapter contains potentially disturbing scenes depicting human suffering. If that kind of thing bothers you, then I strongly suggest you skip it or wait for the sanitized version to come out on my website. Also it goes without saying, but once again, many thanks to everyone who's shared their thoughts about this story! Your reviews and kudos make my day!

This wasn't panic...

In quick succession, the ensconced candles and torches that had been extinguished by the shockwave of the explosion blinked back into existence to illuminate the Great Hall. In just a split-second the cavernous room had been thrown into chaos. Amidst the haze of glittering purple dust ballooning into the room from the epicenter of the explosion, Draco could see abject terror and confusion reflected across the shellshocked faces of the students around him. Although he could see some of their mouths forming screams, cries, and other fearful vocalizations, the deafening ringing in his ears drowned all other noise out.

No, this was _desperation_.

He'd already been on his feet and striding towards Hermione, wondering what in Merlin's name was going on before the explosions went off. In their aftermath, owl feathers and pieces of parchment were left floating haphazardly all around him, while some combination of pumpkin juice, tea, and breakfast food was splattered across his robes and dripping from every other available surface in the room. His inability to hear anything cast an eery pall on an already surreal situation.

There was no time to take the circuitous route around the various House tables and benches that separated him from the last place he'd seen Hermione standing. She'd been running towards the entrance to the Great Hall, and had been briefly illuminated by the blue glow of her shielding spell. However, he'd seen her blown backwards by the blast, so he revised his estimate of where she could have landed. He ruthlessly shoved down the whirlpool of anxiety and fear that were scrabbling for his attention, and focused on getting through the next few seconds, and then the next few after that.

In the time that it took to launch himself bodily over the Slytherin table towards the center of the room, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that gave him pause and distracted him from his singleminded mission to get to her. Somehow, despite the chaos and destruction all around him—something else seemed _very_ wrong.

Now that he was closer to the epicenter, he could see that the students closest to the entrance of the Great Hall looked to be in various stages of extreme physical distress. Through the purple mist that had begun to settle throughout the room, he could see some of them crouched prostrate on the ground, coughing and vomiting, while others clutched and scratched at their throats, dry heaving.

 _It's the powder,_ he realized, _It's got to be some sort of airborne poison. Fuck!_

Some of his classmates had been able to cast _Bubble Head_ charms on themselves before the effects of the powder could incapacitate them, but others hadn't been so lucky—they'd been too close to the explosion to escape exposure to a high dose. Realizing the nausea, tight scratchiness in his throat, and creeping disorientation might not be solely due to shock and anxiety, he hastily cast _Scouring_ and _Bubble Head_ charms on himself while deliberating about what to do.

Around him, students had begun to run around frantically, their only exit now the dangerous epicenter of an expanding toxic violet cloud. Draco was suddenly terrified at the thought of Hermione being trampled under their desperate rush of feet. A selfish impulse was calling for him to disregard everyone else and find her since she'd been closest to the blast. But the part of himself that had sworn to be better wondered what Hermione would think about him doing fuckall to help the people closer to him who were clearly in desperate need of help. With a scowl, he decided he would satisfy both his selfishness _and_ altruism in equal measure— _after_ finding her.

There was still the Ravenclaw table separating him from where he suspected she'd fallen, so he launched himself over the overturned cups and plates strewn in his path and landed amidst a slew of students scrambling down the central walkway in the room. He could see a few terrified younger students crouched beneath the tables around him, frozen in place, their frightened eyes opened wide as saucers. A remote part of his mind distantly noted that they probably didn't now how to cast _Bubble Head_ charms yet, and he grimaced, promising himself he'd come back to them as soon as possible.

To his right, he saw a shock of red hair crouched over a head full of brown curls. With sagging relief, he noted it was Ginny holding Hermione. As he rushed closer, he noted that the redhead appeared to have cast a _Bubble Head_ charm on herself and on Hermione, who was unconscious. Ginny seemed to be curled protectively over her friend against the onslaught of students fleeing around them with nowhere to escape. An immense and contradictory wave of relief and worry spilled through him as he darted over to the pair of Gryffindors.

Still deafened by the effects of the explosion, he pushed his way closer to them and crouched next to Ginny, touching her gently on the shoulder to let her know he was there. Startled, she turned to him with a wild look in her eyes, but after a few moments recognition bled into her expression. She must have seen something in the desperate, urgent glint in his gaze, because she gestured down to Hermione and signaled for him to help her up while mouthing something, though he couldn't tell what.

He nodded, and reached down to cradle Hermione's limp form in his arms, holding her close to his body as he heaved himself into a standing position. He refused to let himself fixate on the pallor that had spread across her skin. Ginny had _Scourgified_ all trace of the powder from her body, but there still seemed to be a near-purple tint to her skin. He used his body to shield both girls from the understandably frantic movements behind them, even if only for a moment trying to be a solid presence against the near stampede.

His heart wrenched at the feel of Hermione's diminutive weight—she felt so small in his arms compared to the immensity of her personality. He hoped desperately that she would be okay. Ginny cleared part of the Hufflepuff table behind them and gestured at him to set Hermione down there. He hesitated, wanting to get her to the Hospital Wing or out of this room at the very least, but his earlier internal debate reared its ugly head.

Draco wasn't sure how badly injured she was, but Ginny's quick aid had ensured that Hermione wouldn't receive prolonged exposure to the toxic chemicals now suffusing the air, despite her high level of initial exposure. Realizing that other students may not have the luxury of time at this moment, he forced himself to concede he'd done all he could for Hermione in the immediate sense, especially since she had Weasely watching her back. However he knew time could be running out for the students like those he'd spied hiding beneath the tables.

With a growl, he forced himself away from the two Gryffindor girls and ran back towards the younger students he'd seen hiding earlier. He began to cast _Scouring_ and _Bubble Head_ charms at them in quick succession as he jogged along the length of the dining table, pushing past those who were rushing aimlessly by him in a panic. Thankfully, from what he could tell, other students seemed to have had the same idea as him around the hall, and he could see them providing help to those that needed it.

By the time he'd finished helping the younger students who'd holed up beneath the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, the professors who'd been present for breakfast had taken matters into their own hands. He hadn't noticed at first because of his temporary deafness, but as more light began to stream in the room, Draco noticed that some of the professors had shattered the tall windows around the room one by one to increase air circulation.

Professors Windmere and Flitwick were also in the process of casting a complicated variant of _Tergeo_ to siphon the airborne toxin out of the room through the gaping window frames, but it only seemed to be partially successful. Incredibly, a few House Elves appeared next to the two professors in the next few moments and began helping them. In another minute or two, the glittering powder suspended in the air and coating every surface in the room had disappeared completely.

Draco looked towards the entrance where he could see McGonagall had arrived. She seemed to have also been working at dispelling the purple dust in the foyer where the actual explosion had taken place, and with the help of the Aurors she'd summoned earlier they'd been able to clear the entrance of all debris. It couldn't have been more than three or four minutes after the Great Hall had erupted so abruptly in chaos, but it felt like an eternity stretched behind him while he stood facing another eternity full of too many morbid possibilities.

Although no one could hear anything—nor would they be able to for a few hours due to the percussive effects of the explosion, not without a Healer's help—Draco was relieved to see that the rush of students that had begun to form had dissipated once the immediate threat had been dealt with. However, that still left the afflicted students who even now were suffering from the toxic effects of whatever had been in those packages—including his fellow Head Girl.

He quickly made his way back towards Ginny and Hermione, removing the _Bubble Head_ charm from himself now that the airborne toxin had been dispelled. His thoughts began to expand beyond the present moment to wonder who had thought to execute so sadistic of a plan, and why. He had a strong suspicion he knew the answers to both, and the possibility enraged him.

_Payback from the Sons of Salazar._

Grimly, he stopped in front of Ginny and gestured for her to move to the side. Surprisingly, she complied, and without wasting another moment Draco scooped Hermione into his arms once again. Deciding that the most useful thing he could do in this moment was seek medical aid for her now that the air was no longer a problem, he strode towards McGonagall while carefully holding the unconscious witch who'd somehow realized what no one else in the Great Hall had guessed.

The Headmistress noticed him and the unconscious witch in his arms immediately. She was alone, as the Aurors accompanying her had spread out to begin helping where they could. She began speaking, but he shook his head and mouthed that he couldn't hear her. With a furrowed brow, she murmured a quick spell directed at his head, which caused a flood of auditory information to come streaming back into his awareness.

_Merlin. It sounds like a warzone!_

"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to listen to me carefully. Auror Embley has informed me that he recognizes the biological agent that seems to have been used in this attack. It's a black market bioweapon called _Nocturne_ , and is meant to cause acute anticholinergic syndrome in its victims, so while it is not immediately lethal, we cannot waste any time in treating its effects. Madame Pomfrey is already on her way down here to help administer aid, however I summoned her before we knew the nature of the weapon used in this attack.

"Given the number of injured, we'll be setting up a triage center here in the Great Hall, and we've summoned additional help from St. Mungo's, but in the meantime I must ask you to complete an important task. We have some antidote stored in the Hospital Wing, and I must ask you to go retrieve it immediately. I would use a _Summoning_ charm, but the medical potions storage room is warded against such forms of magical tampering. Can you make haste and retrieve the antidote serum while we continue rendering aid here?"

Before Draco could protest, McGonagall gestured first at Hermione and then at one of the Aurors who had accompanied her from her office. The blond Auror was kneeling next to an unconscious Ravenclaw 4th year and healing her.

"Auror Miller happens to be an excellent Healer. I need you to leave Hermione here with us so he can take a look at her injuries while you complete this task, Draco. Can you do these things for me?"

Draco swallowed dryly, keeping a tight leash on the tsunami of adrenaline and concern coursing through his system as he forced himself to nod, "Yes Headmistress, I can do that. Hermione was closest to the explosion though, and she got the highest dose of whatever was in that powder. Beyond the antidote, she needs immediate care for injuries from the blast."

"Very well, thank you for that information Draco," McGonagall said gravely, levitating Hermione out of his arms and towards Auror Miller.

She looked back towards him, "The vials of antidote serum should be located on the wall to the right of the door, somewhere near the bottom left of the shelves. Madame Pomfrey is excellent at labeling her inventory, so just look for the vials of serum labeled ' _Diurnaetem_ '. Bring all of them with you. Please, go now."

With one last look at Hermione, looking ghostly while levitating in mid-air a few meters away from him, Draco ran from the Great Hall and into the scorched foyer beyond. As he rushed to the Hospital Wing to fetch the antidote, all he could think was that he needed to get back in time to help the witch who'd captured his heart.

_Hang on, love._

* * *

"Mum? Dad? No, you can't be here! It's not safe!"

Draco watched with mounting consternation as Hermione writhed in her bed in the Hospital Wing. She was caught in a prolonged feverish delirium caused by the _Noctornus_ poison and the havoc it was wreaking on her mind. His heart was lodged somewhere near his throat as he listened to her wander through various harrowing hallucinations. Although Auror Miller and Madame Pomfrey had healed the injuries she'd received from the explosion, there had been little else they could do for her mental anguish aside from administer the _Diurnaetem_ antidote and wait it out.

It had been straightforward enough for him to take a few drops of the antidote serum for the mild symptoms he'd experienced from his exposure to _Noctornus._ Hermione's exposure had been so much worse, though. Even with the antidote, Pomfrey had informed him that she would be working the remnants of the poison out of her system for the remainder of the night at this rate.

Daylight bled into nighttime darkness as he guarded over her troubled slumber. With the dimming light each hallucination became more heart-wrenching than the last, so he transfigured one of the glasses on her bedside table into a small lamp to chase the shadows away. It was only his position as Head Boy and Hermione's persistent delirium that had convinced Pomfrey to lay off her domineering attitude and allow him to stay by her bedside this evening. Even if the older witch hadn't allowed it, Draco was sure he would have found a way to be here with Hermione tonight. He refused to leave her alone and vulnerable after the past two days.

Potter and Weasley had visited her in the Hospital Wing for a few hours today after arriving at Hogwarts, looking equal parts somber and furious. It was only after they'd left before dinner that Draco had taken their place by her bedside with an exhausted sigh. Although the fiasco in the Great Hall had occurred less than 12 hours ago, he felt like an entire week had passed since then. There had been plenty for him to do in the aftermath of this morning's events. Between providing his statement and memories to the Aurors, and helping triage and clean up, he'd barely had a moment to stop and think. Classes had of course been canceled for the day, and all meals had been moved to each house's common room until further notice.

Draco's eyes traced the soft lines of Hermione's face, cast in sharp relief by the small light he'd placed next to her. He couldn't stop replaying the moment he'd seen her blown back by the force of the explosion, couldn't stop thinking back to the way she'd looked that morning in their common room, to the way she'd been last night when they kissed. It all felt like sand slipping through his fingers—as if he'd cupped his fingers closed in the nick of time before it all ran out. What other unexpected and harrowing event would cause more of it to slip from his fingers, though?

Draco sat there wearily, his eyes tracing over Hermione's still form as if afraid she would vanish if he stopped gazing at her. He fell asleep that way, sitting at her bedside and desperately trying to hold on to the calming atmosphere around them, afraid that if he looked away she'd disappear for good.

* * *

As Hermione gazed drowsily up at what she now realized was the coffered ceiling of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts in the early morning twilight, she begrudgingly wondered why she so often seemed to find herself waking up in hospitals and infirmaries lately. Not that she was complaining. She supposed awakening in these settings meant she kept making it out alive and in one piece from whatever dangerous mishaps she frequently seemed to encounter.

This morning her skin felt uncomfortably tight, and her limbs felt stiff and sore, but she couldn't remember what had put her in this state. The last thing she recalled was sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall after she and Draco had met with McGonagall. Aside from that, she only had memories of hazy dreams and nightmares—delirious flights of fancy she wasn't sure had happened at all.

It was only as the dawning morning light spread to illuminate more of the Hospital Wing around her that Hermione noticed the wizard sleeping by her bedside. Draco was slumped in an uncomfortable looking position with his arms crossed and his long legs sprawled out beneath her bed. The lines and grime on his face told a story all on their own, revealing hardship and strain that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him. He'd transfigured one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs the Hospital Wing usually provided into something more comfortable. One of his pale hands was extended towards her, resting on her bed without directly touching her.

This was another thing she supposed she found herself doing often enough—watching Malfoy seep in the early morning sunlight. She didn't care that it sounded creepy. She'd had so few opportunities to see him like this so far, and she savored every one of them. After spending a few minutes fully waking up and trying to regain her bearings, Hermione felt the compulsion to complete the connection that Draco's hand offered as it sat innocent and inert only a few centimeters away from her arm.

Although her arm felt unusually heavy as she lifted it, she was able to move it far enough to gently land on top of his. She wanted the comfort that his touch could provide, and was suddenly thankful they'd crossed this bridge with their first kiss before she'd somehow ended up in the Hospital Wing like this. She wasn't sure what she would have done if she'd awoken in a scenario like this without the comforting touch of someone she trusted to ground her.

Draco sprang into consciousness the moment her small hand engulfed his, but he didn't draw away from her touch. Instead, he said her name with a relieved sigh upon realizing she was awake and leaned over to engulf her in a hug before she could squeak much more than his name in return.

"You had me so worried, witch," he murmured into her ear. His hands were gently stroking her hair, her face, her arms. He touched her as if ensuring she was really there in all her corporeal glory, as if hoping to hold on to her a little longer in the face of the unknown.

Hermione drank it all in greedily, somehow knowing she needed this. Despite the gaping hole in her memory, there was a frantic echo of anxiety bouncing unmoored throughout her chest.

"W–what happened?" she asked, dazed but pleased by the onslaught of comforting physical sensations.

He pulled away from her slightly with a darkened gaze, and first asked how she was feeling. When she confirmed that she wasn't in any immediate pain, he proceeded to tell her an insane story that sounded as if it had been pulled straight from a Muggle action thriller.

Hermione shook her head incredulously into his shoulder before leaning back to look at him, "But... you mean to tell me the Sons of Salazar chose to target _the school at large_ in retaliation for what we did the night before last? They could have killed _children_."

Draco nodded grimly, "That was the point. They wanted to send a message—one with maximum impact."

Hermione clenched her jaw, wishing she could strike every single one of those backwards idiots down now with a single incensed thought. While she was more satisfied than ever that she and Draco had helped root out most of that odious secret society's ilk from the halls of Hogwarts, she shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if she hadn't listened to her intuition in the Great Hall.

It frustrated her that she couldn't remember what had happened at breakfast yesterday firsthand. Belatedly, she realized that the tables had been turned for her and Draco. Now _she_ was the one whose harrowing memories were missing, while he was the one who retained full knowledge of what had transpired.

"What you did in there–" he started speaking and then stopped abruptly.

His words distracted her from her anger momentarily. She wasn't sure if she'd ever seen him overcome like this while speaking. He was usually so good about concealing his emotional responses behind a facade of impassiveness or playfulness.

He swallowed before continuing, "I want to call you foolish for putting yourself in so much danger like that, but you... you prevented something so much worse from happening. If those packages had exploded above the Great Hall... if you hadn't cast that _Protego_ at the last moment... I'm not sure you realize just how much destruction you prevented. And yet you looked so pale and still when you were laying unconscious in the aftermath of it all. You foolish, incredible, courageous witch."

Her eyes welled up as he pulled her close again, hugging her fiercely and burying his face in her hair once more. Her hands rose to hold him in their embrace, and she wondered how this could feel so natural, so right when they'd only admitted their attraction to each other two nights ago.

 _I don't suppose it matters, does it?_ she decided.

_Draco's here now when I need it—he's providing comfort when I badly need it. I'm not about to sabotage myself. There are enough other people in the world currently trying to do that for me._

They separated after a minute or two. He sank back into his seat and ran a hand through his disheveled hair while Hermione settled back into the infirmary bed, noting just how exhausted she still felt. She could do without the familiar feeling of depletion that had become unfortunately familiar to her this year. If she never dealt with exhaustion again it would be too soon.

Something seemed to occur to Draco, and he asked her, "McGonagall seemed cagey yesterday when I asked if your parents had been notified about your condition. What's that all about?"

This time tears welled in Hermione's eyes for an entirely different reason. It wasn't Draco's fault by any means, but his reminder of her parents and everything she had lost was what finally broke her composure. In moments her trickle of tears had transformed into full-blown sobbing, much to Draco's growing alarm.

In between soft hiccuping sobs, Hermione explained that she'd _Obliviated_ her parents during the war as her last line of protection. With misery and shame seeping through her words, she revealed what she'd been too preoccupied to face lately—that she'd unwittingly forsaken her own parents in her attempt to protect them. That for all intents and purposes she no longer _had_ any parents to give a damn about her.

As if he could see the shame slithering onto her face, Draco leaned over to grasp her chin, and forced her eyes to meet his. His words echoed the mantra she had repeated to herself throughout the past few months to keep the self-blame at bay.

"You did what you had to—what you thought was right. Don't ever blame yourself for trying to keep them safe, Hermione," he bit out fiercely with compassion shining in his gaze, "You would have felt a million times worse if you hadn't taken those measures and they'd suffered for it.

Compassion wasn't something she was use to seeing in his eyes, and she soaked it up, allowing his comforting words to make their way past her stubborn defenses. She was reluctant to admit it to herself, but he made a good point. She hadn't thought about just how terrible she would have felt if she hadn't been able to keep her parents safe. Having considered the trade-offs as he'd presented them, she actually felt some measure of _satisfaction_ in knowing she'd never have to face the much worse possibility that she hadn't done _enough_ to keep her parents safe. Especially considering the Sons of Salazar and the lengths they'd now proven they'd go to just to make a sinister point.

Wish a shiver and a thankful smile at the brooding wizard beside her, Hermione conceded that his words had done their job. She actually felt a little better about herself and what she'd done to her parents, which was miraculous all things considered. Smiling softly at her in return, Draco kept his hand on her chin and leaned in to place a gentle kiss against her lips.

"Get some more sleep witch, I'll be here when you wake up," he said gruffly once he pulled away.

"No offense Draco, but you look rough. Go take care of yourself, take a shower, take a nap in a real bed—I'll be fine here for a few hours with only Pomfrey to keep me company," she said, ending on a teasing note.

He chuckled but relented, promising her he'd freshen up and eat something before returning to visit her in the Hospital Wing later. However, he insisted upon staying with her until she fell asleep, and she sleepily agreed. His thumb traced lazy circles along the back of her hand in a hypnotizing pattern that quickly had her descending back into the depths of her healing slumber. As her eyes fluttered closed, she found herself thinking of the comfort Draco had brought her in this moment.

_I want all my days to start with you._


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** We're getting close to the end of this story, and I can't believe how far we've come! Your responses to the last chapter were incredible, and as repetitive as it probably sounds, I greatly appreciate your attention and feedback. Thank you so much! Also, this is one of the few chapters I didn't have the time to edit because I need sleep e_e so if you notice any glaring errors, feel free to let me know!

"The court will now hear the testimony of Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class, regarding Theodore Nott's role in the events that took place on Saturday September 5th."

Kingsley's words pulled Hermione from the contemplative trance she'd fallen into while watching today's court proceedings unfold. She wasn't ashamed to admit that her gaze had been locked on Draco's profile for the past few minutes as she hung onto his every word. This pensive state of contemplation was better than giving into the anxious whirlpool that had been expanding in her stomach all morning. She tried not to let any of her emotional inclinations cloud her thinking for the time being, knowing the hardest was yet to come. Around her the courtroom—which had been bustling with palpable energy and human activity only moments ago—stilled in buzzing anticipation of her testimony.

Wearing a look of grim determination, she stiffly moved her limbs for the first time since Draco had left her side to deliver his own testimony before the Wizengamot. Slowly rising from her seat, she made her way towards the podium where Kingsley presided amidst a sea of plum-colored robes. As she walked purposefully across the room, she gave no indication of acknowledging the silent presence of Theodore Nott where he currently sat. He was chained to a monstrosity of a metal chair in the center of the expansive circular room wearing a sullen expression.

It was just shy of two months since Nott had been apprehended and sent to Azkaban for his role in the first ambush at Hogwarts. Although Dementors were no longer guarding the prisoners there, the past 8 weeks seemed to have taken their toll on the young wizard. And yet, despite the visible grime and misery printed across the surface of his skin, he remained defiant. She didn't need to meet his gaze to see the hatred and rage that still shone through the resentful tawny depths of his eyes.

As she crossed the courtroom, her path intersected briefly with Draco's as he returned to their seats near the periphery. It was long enough to make eye contact with him, long enough to see the quiet look of intensity and support he sent her, the slight nod of his head and the encouraging tilt of his lips. She was grateful for the encouragement his silent support provided her, and she smiled minutely in response. By the time she'd made her way to Kingsley's podium though, her smile had disappeared at the thought of what she would have to relive in the next few minutes.

It was Wednesday morning, and both Head students had taken the first half of the day off from school to testify in the first of what promised to be at least a dozen Wizengamot trials centering around the Sons of Salazar's activity at Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey had been adamant that it was too soon for Hermione to be exposing herself to this level of stress and activity given the battering her body had taken in the past few weeks. Draco had agreed with Pomfrey, but he'd also sworn to support Hermione no matter what decision she made. Of course, their well-meaning warnings had done nothing to deter Hermione from wanting to take part in the trial.

 _I'll testify in as many of these Merlinforsaken trials as it takes to exact justice for what the Sons of Salazar have tried to do,_ she thought stolidly.

It had been a few months since Hermione had last set foot in the courtrooms deep in the Ministry dungeons, and although she still felt the customary chill that came with knowing only ten floors separated her from the Department of Mysteries and the terrible memories that accompanied it, she knew the suffocating discomfort was worth it in cases like this one. Indeed, it wasn't the only place in the Ministry that now gave her chills.

She came to a stop near the front of the courtroom where Kingsley stood flanked by the nearly fifty other witches and wizards who comprised the Wizengamot. The interim Minister of Magic and Chief Warlock inclined his head at her with warmth shining in his brandy-colored eyes. She responded in kind.

It was no surprise to see the full court present today. This was a formal criminal trial after all, and it was the least of what Theo Nott deserved. She was sure the Wizengamot had been plenty busy during the past few months in the aftermath of Voldemort's reign of terror. Given what she and Draco had uncovered in the past few days, she was sure they'd be even busier in the upcoming weeks.

"Hermione, if you will, please describe the role Theodore Nott played in the events that unfolded the night of Saturday, September 5th at Hogwarts," Kingsley prompted solemnly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione fortified the mental walls that had by now become her silent companions, and shoved down the swirling anxiety that had yet to abate in her stomach. She haltingly began to tell those gathered in the courtroom the finer details of Nott's role in her abduction that Saturday night.

"Theodore was more than happy to partake in my torture the night of Saturday September 5th, Minister," Hermione said, struggling to keep her eyes from watering at the memory.

"He was the third to... to harm me. He cast the _Cruciatus_ on me, but I–I... I'm not sure how long it lasted. Afterwards, h–he said he'd always wanted t–to do that to me."

She swallowed thickly and forced her eyes to remain trained upon Kingsley. She'd begun to lose her composure more quickly than she'd prepared for. Still, she didn't want to show any additional shred of vulnerability in this courtroom if she could help it, especially not in front of Nott, whose gaze she could feel burning a hole in her back.

"When he was done, he used a hex I'm unfamiliar with to br–break both of my l–legs, to keep me from escaping," she continued tremulously, wishing she could make her voice sound stronger, wishing she could project a more convincing facade of strength.

For some reason _this_ was what caused more gasps to erupt across the courtroom, as if a physical injury were somehow more barbaric than the pain Nott had magically inflicted upon her nerve endings.

"Go on, Hermione," Kingsley encouraged her with a sympathetic gaze.

"He left me laying there," Hermione spoke in choked syllables, "and joined everyone else by the fire a few meters away. A–a few minutes later, he turned on Draco and cast an _Incarcerous_ on him."

She paused here, overcome by the vision of Draco writhing on the floor, illuminated by the fireplace in that hidden room, his face bloody and his body contorted in agony. With sickening clarity, she remembered the inner conflict she'd felt in that moment, forcing herself to disregard his pain and suffering in the interest of her own survival. The memory of it made her nauseous, but she swallowed down the bile and forced herself to continue.

"Nott stood by while Selwyn and Mulciber lifted the modified _Imperius_ curse they'd cast on D–Draco and... and proceeded to torture him with the _Cruciatus_. When they were done, they _Obliviated_ him..."

She paused to catch her breath, feeling just a few moments away from gasping for it. After a few stilted moments of silence, she continued.

"Theodore was tasked with returning Draco to his quarters. Th–the last I saw of Nott that night, he... he was levitating Draco, unconscious, out of the room at Selwyn's behest."

Kingsley nodded when she finished, and proceeded to ask her a few clarifying questions, which she answered in a daze, still half-lost in her memories of that night.

"Let the record show that Ms. Granger's memories, along with those of Theodore Nott and Elezier Selwyn, corroborate her testimony today, as does the photographic evidence that was recovered at the scene of the crime."

The anxiety in Hermione's gut spiked at the reminder that there was _photographic evidence_ of what had happened that night, but it quickly transformed into roaring anger and shame. She hated to think of what those vile vermin had planned to do with their animated photographs of that night. The thought of it served as kindling to the stuttering fire in her heart. She was tired of being scared, tired of letting her unfortunate brushes with torture control her when _she_ was the one whose dignity and agency had been gravely violated.

It was easier to oblige Kingsley when he asked her to describe Nott's behavior at Hogwarts in the week preceding her abduction. She responded honestly when he asked her if she thought Nott could also have been under the influence of the _Imperius_ curse.

"It's certainly possible, Minister," she responded cautiously, "But I didn't see or hear any indication of it."

"Thank you Hermione, that will be all," Kingsley said, giving her a warm if subtle smile, and gesturing for her to return to her seat.

Her shoulders sagged a few millimeters in relief at his dismissal. She turned and made her way back to her seat beside Draco after what felt like far too many steps. She could feel the curious stares of the packed room on her as she sat—perhaps too comfortably in their eyes—next to one of the wizards responsible for torturing her on the very night she'd just testified about. Of course, it mattered little to her what they thought of the camaraderie that was now apparent between her and the Malfoy heir.

Within seconds after she'd sank into her seat, she felt a soft touch where her hand rested on the bench between them. Although her gaze remained trained upon Kingsley as he called upon a third witness, her attention was split between that and the fingers that had engulfed her trembling hand. She flipped her hand and threaded her fingers through Draco's, squeezing his hand lightly, and he responded in kind.

She allowed herself to become somewhat distracted by his touch, feeling that her job for the morning had been done. She'd testified—that was realistically as much as she could do for the time being, and certainly more than anyone had expected her to do. Given the events of last week—a mostly averted bioweapon explosion in the Great Hall, for fuck's sake—no one had actually expected her to make it to today's trial.

 _Of course, I love proving people wrong, don't I?_ she thought wryly. _Even to my own detriment._

Under less serious circumstances, she would have even been wearing the ghost of a smirk—surely a sign of Draco's impish ways rubbing off on on her. Unfortunately, this was the exact opposite of a time to relax completely, so she kept her emotions closed off and outwardly maintained a flat expression despite the thread of warmth she felt extending from the place where Draco's hand met hers.

It was especially important to maintain her impassive facade in the face of the sheer animosity currently suffusing the atmosphere of the room. People seemed to be out for blood after what had happened at Hogwarts last week, and for good reason. Not even the war had brought out so cowardly an attempt to target Hogwarts students as what the Sons of Salazar had attempted only six days ago. Whether intentionally or not, the secret society had lit a tinderbox of simmering ire in a society that had finally had enough. They thirsted for retribution. Nott of course seemed to be soaking it all up.

"Theodore Eminus Nott, you stand accused of materially contributing to the activities of the Sons of Salazar—an organization now categorized as terrorist by the Ministry of Magic. We've now heard your defense, and have heard witnesses speak both for and against you. Before we proceed to sentencing, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Since she and Draco were sitting to his right, they both saw the sneer that immediately spread across Nott's face at Kingsley's words. She knew nothing good would come of this.

"We all know this sham of a trial is just theater for you and wizarding Britain at large, Shacklebolt. You've already kept me in Azkaban for two months. I'm under no illusions about what today's pathetic display of performative justice will yield."

Nott's words caused an uproar in the courtroom. Incensed witches and wizards seated across the room were shouting and booing at Nott, chained as he was in the center of the room. Intriguingly, a smaller contingent of them were cheering at his words, shouting out some of the popular conspiracy slogans that had begun to circulate around magical London.

 _Bold of them to reveal their allegiences under such circumstances,_ Hermione mused

"Rest assured, _Minister_ —all you've accomplished today is making a martyr of me. The Sons of Salazar will simply retreat further underground until the time is right again, all the while recruiting and regrouping, growing stronger. We'll remain dormant as long as it takes, until every single one of you pathetic idiots has forgotten about our existence. Then when you least expect it, we'll come slithering back to extract our revenge. Just you wait," Nott snarled arrogantly.

Were it nor for the restraints on his arms and legs, Hermione was sure he would have lunged towards Kingsley in that moment. She shuddered and gripped Draco's hand harder. His thumb began its now familiar path along the back of her hand, and somehow the motion imparted some modicum of calm amidst the fraught atmosphere. In a subtle motion, he shifted his body a few centimeters closer to her, angling himself between her and the people to their left who had cheered at Nott's proclamation.

Unperturbed, Minister Shacklebolt responded firmly while meeting Nott's gaze.

"There will always be good people waiting to meet you and your ilk whenever and wherever you rear your ugly heads, Theodore. In the meantime, I'll do everything I can to foster a society that can do better than the backwards bigotry you preach."

Nott opened his mouth to retort, but Kingsley wordlessly silenced him. Without another word, the Wizengamot began to deliberate amongst themselves. In less than ten minutes—shorter than usual for sentencing at criminal trials, they seemed to have come to a conclusion. Kingsley resumed his position at the podium near the center of the room's far wall.

"All in favor of conviction?"

Despite some hissing across the hall at the clear majority of Wizengamot members who were in favor of convicting Nott, there were no other objections during the vote as each member voiced their judgement. At length, Kingsley nodded decisively and spoke.

"Theodore Eminus Nott, this magical court of law finds you guilty of materially contributing to the activities of the Sons of Salazar, a known terrorist organization. You have been sentenced to thirty years in Azkaban unless you agree to participate in an experimental behavioral modification program sponsored by St. Mungo's. Should you choose to undergo this behavioral modification, your sentence will be reduced down to ten years assuming you comply with the requirements of your imprisonment. Which will you choose?"

From her vantage point, Theo looked unaffected by Kingsley's words. Certainly, something like behavioral modification sounded terrifying, all things considered, but she supposed if it was the difference between one decade spent in prison as opposed to _three_ , it would have probably seemed more enticing to her as well. Then again, Kingsley hadn't exactly been forthcoming just now about what that behavioral modification entailed...

Nott shrugged, unconcerned, "My life's already over. I'll take the reduced sentence. What's the worst that could happen at this rate?"

Peering past the false bravado Nott was clearly projecting, Hermione could sense an undercurrent of resignation in his nonchalant voice.

Kingsley nodded, "Very well then."

As Theo was released from his constraints and led out of the courtroom by two Aurors, he threw his head back and shouted, "Long live the Sons of Salazar! Long live the Death Eaters! Long live Voldemort! You idiots have no cl—"

Hermione and Draco remained seated a little longer amidst the flurry of indignant shouts and attempts at physical accostment by some of those in attendance that followed Nott's outburst. They watched as the Aurors flanking him silenced his last ditch efforts at causing a scene while pushing off those who wanted to punish him for his insolence. After a few chaotic moments, they finally led him out of the room. Hermione stared after him feeling nothing but grim satisfaction.

_One down, ten to go._

* * *

Draco hadn't been prepared for the swell of protective awareness he felt towards Hermione on this excursion. It was perfectly understandable of course, considering the myriad nasty surprises that had been thrown at them lately, but it still felt at odds with what he was used to—and indeed, compared to what those around him expected of him. The wizarding world thought him to be a vindictive and bigoted prat, but that version of him was long gone now. This trial had helped him see that more clearly than ever. It had confirmed what he hadn't been sure was true in his heart and mind until now.

Watching Theo petulantly defend his pureblood ideology before a roomful of some of the most powerful wizards and witches in Britain—Hermione included—had been oddly cathartic for Draco, something he hadn't expected. As infuriating as it had been to watch, it had been all the confirmation Draco needed that no part of him agreed with any of what Theo was saying—none of the dross that had spilled from his former housemate's lips resonated with him any longer.

Outside the confines of Hogwarts like this, Draco felt less defined by the few months that separated him from the world after graduation. Here he felt less like a student and closer to the wizard he wanted to become—like the wizard he seemed to be _well on his way to becoming_ , even if he never could have guessed that this would be how he achieved it. No guile, no cunning. His father would have been furious if he'd had any capacity to care anymore.

He glanced down to the witch at his left as they made their way towards the courtroom's nearest exit, and wondered again how he could have gotten so lucky.

 _She's all the silver lining I need_ , he mused as he pushed the door open.

Unfortunately, his contemplative mood was dashed the moment they stepped past the courtroom doors only to be accosted by an eager mass of reporters and onlookers. He reflexively began to reach towards Hermione but held back, unsure if she'd appreciate such an obvious public display of trust between them just yet. It wasn't something they'd spoken about yet. Despite his hesitation to touch her in public, he angled his body to rebuff some of the more eager reporters who were now trying to invade their personal space.

"Hermione! Ms. Granger! How is it that you and Draco Malfoy seem to be so chummy now? Have you really forgiven him for what he did to you?"

"Draco! Do you make a habit of befriending the girls you torture?"

"A statement from either of you—any thoughts on Theodore Nott's sentence? What did you think of the trial?"

The flurry of questions and rush of bodies was disorienting, but it quickly abated with the help of two Aurors who had thankfully waited to escort them out. So intense was the initial crush of interested people that Draco had switched his attention to looking for potential threats—another deranged secret society member with a vendetta, perhaps. He had little time to feel angered by their invasive questions until the crowd had been pushed back slightly by the Auror's shielding spells.

Beside him, Hermione had tensed but otherwise remained silent despite the extremely personal questions being hurled at them as they briskly made their way towards the lift. He admired her composure given the circumstances. They had a brief reprieve from the chaos during their lift ride up to the Ministry atrium, but the peace was short-lived as they were met with a similarly chaotic scene once they exited into the packed first floor, still flanked by the two Aurors. However it was when they left the confines of the Ministry that the real trouble began.

Their group of four had only been outside for a few seconds when someone attempted to launch something at them. Although they'd all drawn their wands prepared to respond, the Auror closest to the projectile responded first. As it turned out, it was a raw egg. The Auror disposed of it without a word while gesturing to one of his other colleagues to take care of the assailant.

"You're a traitorous whore for defending that Malfoy piece of garbage after what he did," someone shouted to their right, the unnatural effect on the person's voice clearly caused by some sort of voice modification spell.

Another piece of food was thrown at them from the same direction, this time thwarted by another nearby Auror and obliterated before it could make contact. Draco watched as the the assailant was apprehended, but he could see that Hermione was incensed and overwhelmed to have to face this so soon after having testified.

Having had enough, Draco leaned towards her to murmer, "Don't listen to them. Those idiots have no clue what they're talking about."

She looked up at him gratefully and nodded. He was temporarily blinded by the flashes of cameras that lit up around them at his words and her nonverbal response. Unfortunately, the Auror's actions did nothing to quell the outraged voices heckling them from multiple directions.

"Your day is coming, Malfoy! You demented piece of filth!"

"You deserve the Kiss just like your father!"

"The only good Malfoy's a dead Malfoy!"

Despite their intent, these scathing recriminations meant nothing to him. If the circumstances had been different, Draco might have even found himself smirking at the crowd's attempts to get under his skin. As it was, he had a better idea for how to handle this confrontation. Straightening to his full height, he decided this was as good a time as ever to tell the world at large what his classmates at Hogwarts were already aware of. He knew a good portion of the crowd would sooner proclaim their love for genital warts than believe him, but at least now his position would be unequivocally stated. He took a step in front of Hermione to shield her from the increased onslaught he was sure his words would cause.

"Let it be known that I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, renounce the Sons of Salazar, disavow myself of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and forsake every stupid bit of pureblood ideology I was indoctrinated to believe. If you remain skeptical of the truth in my words, well, that's your problem—not mine."

The already energetic crowd erupted in a cacophany of noise and flashes of camera lights at his proclamation. People surged in on their groups while shouting questions and recriminations, pushing uncomfortably close from all directions for a few moments before the two flanking Aurors were able to help the two students carve their way through the now seething crowd. Beside him, Hermione looked stressed but unsurprised by his actions. She caught him looking at her and flashed him a faint smile that was quickly dashed by the recriminations that continued to flood in from all around them.

"Good for nothing liar!"

"Don't believe a word he says!"

"Fuck you, blood traitor!"

After a few more tense moments, they reached an area of the sidewalk that was less crowded, and were given the go-ahead by their accompanying Aurors to apparate back to Hogsmeade. As the flash of cameras continued to burst all around them, Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and drew her closer into his side, deciding to ignore his previous reservations about public displays of affection.

_I might as well give everyone something else to gossip about._

With a sly smile, he reached down to whisper quietly in her ear, "Imagine how much more scandalized they'd be if they knew just how well we've gotten to know each other, witch."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a small blush stole across Hermione's face at his words, but she seemed otherwise unconcerned by his gesture. She looked up at him with a heady mix of incredulity, desire and mirth reflected in her tired gaze.

"So, so incorrigible," she murmured wryly, clearly grateful for the distraction.

With one last nod at the Aurors who had acted as their sentinels on their way out of the courtroom, Draco chuckled. He pulled Hermione closer and disapparated away from the still writhing mass of people surrounding them.

* * *

They landed in Hogsmeade to much less fanfare. In fact, Draco was relieved to see that _no one_ seemed to be waiting for them here. Although he remained mostly unruffled by the insults that had been thrown at him, in that moment he'd felt tense at the knowledge that any one of the people in that crowd could have been another Sons of Salazar plant trying to spread fear, uncertainty and destruction as they had in the Great Hall on days earlier. He was supremely relieved nothing had come of his paranoid musings.

As he turned to observe her, he noted that Hermione seemed to have taken the crowd's words much more personally, although not in the way he would have expected. Instead of looking hurt or crestfallen, she looked furious, her lips set in a stubborn grimace as she contemplated whichever aspect of the scene they'd just left behind that bothered her most.

He glanced at the clocktower near the town square, and realizing it was near lunchtime, decided he wasn't quite done spending time with Hermione today.

"If it's all the same to you love, I'd rather not return to the castle just yet. What do you say we grab a bite at the Three Broomsticks first?"

Hermione raised a brow, his words having momentarily distracted her from her angry thoughts.

"Oh was that your plan all along? Finagle a quick date out of me between the trial and our afternoon classes?" she asked drolly.

Draco smirked, relieved to hear her joking with him, "For the record, _you're_ the one who's calling it a date."

She grinned and reached for his hand, "Semantics, really."

He chuckled quietly and took her proffered hand as they began walking in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

 _She didn't take it back_ , he thought with satisfaction, her hand warm in his as he rubbed his thumb along her soft skin. _Does she_ want _it to be a date?_

She'd been so silent today—it had been hard to tell what state of mind she was in, but he hadn't wanted to pry before the trial. In the days that had elapsed since she'd been released from the Hospital Wing, they'd grown even more at ease in each other's company. Given her behavior just now, he wondered if she was in a better mood than he'd estimated despite that morning's events.

It wasn't until they made their way into an empty corner of the restaurant and ordered food that she revealed the root of her disquiet and showed him just how wrong his estimations of her train of thought today had been. When he asked her what was troubling her, her response was wonderfully open.

"It obviously doesn't seem to have affected you like it did me," she began, pausing to take a sip of her tea, "But what they said about us earlier—it bothered me. Those weren't the words of people who want the best for our society. They were the words of lunatics intent on indiscriminately meting out punishment. I doubt rehabilitation is even part of their vocabulary."

Draco scoffed, "You're giving those idiots too much credit, then. Why should their opinion of you matter at all when you could wipe the floor with them in a duel? They represent a loud but small minority of magical folk, and the louder they squawk, the closer I guarantee they are to obsolescence."

He could tell she was flattered by his offhand compliment, even if he hadn't meant it to be anything but a statement of fact. Of course, she immediately tried to temper his statement with caveats of her own, but he would hear none of her objections.

Their food was delivered a few minutes later, interrupting the playful banter they'd devolved into. They lapsed into a comfortable silence while they ate their first meals of the day, as neither of them had found the time nor the stomach to eat breakfast before the trial.

Hermione finished eating before him and watched his movements with a strange expression her face. Curious to hear the words he could sense building behind her warm gaze, he quickly shoved the last few forkfuls of food on his plate into his mouth, wondering what she was so hesitant to say out loud. When she noticed he was done with his meal, she tilted her head and regarded him with a speculative expression.

"We were photographed on our way out of the Ministry by no less than 8 photographers today," she said pensively, pausing to take another sip of her drink before continuing, "I counted."

Draco wasn't sure why her casual statement surprised him— _I should have expected no less from the Golden Girl_ —but he found himself once again impressed by her observational skills. She continued voicing her train of thought.

"And as innocent as it was, our embrace before disapparating earlier will almost certainly raise some eyebrows. Of course, our behavior towards each other at the trial itself would have already caused a similar reaction, I'm sure. By tomorrow morning I expect photographs of us will most likely be making the rounds across printed media whether we like it or not. Your little declaration outside the Ministry just now all but guarantees it."

Draco sighed, knowing she was right. The same thing had occurred to him as soon as they'd landed in Hogsmeade, but he'd been reluctant to bring it up, unwilling to potentially destroy the easy rhythm that had developed between them so recently. He'd been prepared to face rejection days ago when the possibility of Hermione's romantic interest had seemed like an impossibility. But now that he knew she reciprocated his feelings? The thought of a rejection from her felt immense and unbearable in comparison. And yet, if push came to shove he knew he would force himself to swallow down that bitter pill if it was what she wanted. However, her next few words set his heart galloping in a completely different direction.

"Whether we actually choose to explore whatever this is between us or not, people will have already formed an opinion about us based on the unified front we presented at the trial today—and plenty of them will want to punish us for it for one twisted reason or another."

She paused, and seemed to search carefully for her next words.

"The thing is," she continued slowly, "It's clear we're both attracted to each other, as improbable as that sounds given our history. So why take that public recrimination laying down? Why not really give them something to grouse about?"

Draco was stunned by what he was hearing, the bustling sounds of the lunchtime crowd around them fading into the background as he processed her words. It was one thing for her to admit she liked him—it was _far_ different for her to admit she wanted to explore something more.

"Are you saying you _want_ to be in a relationship with me?"

Hermione nodded, her umber gaze shining with caution and courage, and the spark she'd lit in the depths of his heart ignited within his chest. He felt a swell of affection grow for her once he fully recognized the vulnerability and trust she was showing in even discussing any of this with him.

_My brave little witch._

"It sounds ludicrous, of course," she responded frankly, "But as you said earlier—why should anyone's opinion of us matter? I _like_ you Draco, and I'm so incredibly tired of denying myself a chance at happiness."

Draco felt full to bursting, and briefly wondered if this was all a dream. He'd had plenty of them featuring Hermione lately, but none like this. Even his psyche had refrained from imagining _her_ suggesting the idea of a relationship with him, perhaps assuming it would be too outlandish of a possibility. He was thrilled that Hermione had proven even his subconscious wrong by taking matters into her own hands, and felt too euphoric to care about the many reasons why this wouldn't be nearly as easy as it sounded.

"Hermione," he said solemnly while reaching out to grab her left hand where it rested across from him, "I would love nothing more than to show you exactly what you've been missing out on."

His pompous words caused a huge smile to spread across her face, and Draco basked in the warmth and satisfaction of knowing he had been the cause of it.

"You're absolutely insufferable," she said rolling her eyes, but her huge smile remained intact.

"Love, you haven't seen anything yet," he teased after they'd paid for their meal and started their trek back to the castle.

_I can't wait to show you how good we can be together._


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm not surprised in the least, you know."

Ginny hadn't even waited for Hermione to finish sitting down at the Gryffindor table to say it. The redhead was wearing an inscrutable expression, today's edition of _The Daily Prophet_ clutched in one hand as she spooned cheesy eggs onto her plate with the other.

Around them, the Great Hall looked spotless as ever—certainly not as if it had been nearly blown apart just one week ago. The windows had been replaced, the entrance rebuilt, and the scorch marks cleared. Yet the hall looked emptier than ever—and it wasn't just due to the early hour.

In the aftermath of last week's attack, there had been an understandable influx of panicked parents pulling their children out of Hogwarts out of fear for their safety. Hermione couldn't exactly blame them. Shaking off her morose train of thought, she poured herself some water before responding to her friend.

"I assume you're talking about the front-page story the _Prophet_ probably decided to run this morning? The one that most likely insinuates some sort of twisted romance between Draco and I, complete with photographic evidence?"

Ginny nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but Hermione continued before she had a chance to speak.

"Because it's true, you know."

A 6th year Gryffindor sitting within hearing distance choked on her pumpkin juice upon hearing Hermione's words, but Ginny remained unphased. There were too few other Gryffindors at breakfast this early for them to have heard, but Hermione wouldn't have minded if they had—she _wanted_ the news to spread. Some defiant part of her wanted to dare anyone to tell _her_ of all people who she could and couldn't spend her time and affections on, sordid pasts be damned.

"If you'd seen how worried about you Malfoy was when all hell broke loose here last week—if you'd seen how desperate he was to get help, then you'd understand why I'm not surprised to hear that. It's obvious he cares for you."

Stunned yet extremely curious, Hermione asked, "What exactly did he do that day... after I was knocked out? You've told me what happened in general, but not specifically about him."

Ginny pointed towards the far end of the Slytherin table, "Malfoy was sitting over there when it happened."

She then drew her finger towards the center of the room between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, "And when you landed over there... we both practically clawed our way over to you. I got there first because I had less obstacles in my way. I still don't know how he was able to find us so quickly—it was absolute chaos... Although I was able to cast _Scouring_ and _Bubble Head_ charms on you and me, we were nearly trampled in the process. He managed to haul both of us up from the ground and out of the way."

Ginny shuddered and took a bite of her eggs and a hearty swig of her pumpkin juice before she continued speaking. In the meantime, Hermione gazed at the center of the room, trying to visualize what her friend was describing.

"It's bizarre how apparent it was, really, considering we were all deafened and dazed by the explosion. Despite all that shock, Malfoy was so focused on you, so torn when he realized there was nothing more he could do to help you in that moment. It's part of the reason I respect him more now."

_I underestimated Ginny_ , Hermione mused, immensely pleased by her friend's intuition.

"He was so torn between wanting to help you and wanting to help the younger students around us who were defenseless against the effects of _Nocturne_. I didn't think Slytherins were _capable_ of altruism towards anyone but themselves, if I'm being honest. But anyone who saw him make the choice to help those students in the aftermath of the explosion—despite his clear desire to stay with you—would be hard-pressed to make that argument."

Hermione's heart melted upon hearing Ginny's recounting of the events she hadn't been conscious to witness. Sure, there was trauma there, too. Mountains of it had accumulated in her psyche over the past year, along with plenty other less than positive emotions.

But to hear about Draco's dilemma, to know that he'd been so concerned not only for her, but for other students in a moment when others may have been too panicked or frightened to think clearly... It only made her affection for him grow. Mountains of _that_ emotion had also accumulated in her psyche over the past few months—the vast majority of it directed towards the platinum-haired wizard she now called her boyfriend.

The thought caused a small grin to form on Hermione's lips, and a bolt of desire to travel through her, but she tried to remain focused on the conversation at hand.

"Gin, thanks for understanding. And even though you're tired of hearing it, thank you so much for looking out for me last week."

Ginny's lips quirked slightly, "Of course, 'Mione. It's not me you should be worried about, in any case. It's my brother—you know that."

Hermione groaned, "I sent letters to both Ron and Harry last night with an explanation, just so they'd hear it from me first instead of the papers. But I... erm... haven't heard back from either of them yet."

Ginny patted her arm sympathetically, "I don't expect them to understand right away—they weren't there, they didn't see what I did. Just give them some time."

Hermione nodded and chewed on her lip, wondering just how angry her two best friends would be upon hearing that she'd been the one to initiate a relationship with their former archnemesis. She hoped their next conversation wouldn't be too fraught with tension. And yet, as tired as she was of conflict lately, Draco was a point of contention she would gladly argue over all day with her best friends if necessary. She hoped Harry and Ron trusted her judgement enough to listen to her in this case, but she really couldn't be sure. Draco was obviously a sore subject for all of them.

_Still... he's worth it._

* * *

Lulled into a sense of normalcy by the steady progression of her morning and her conversation with Ginny at breakfast, Hermione distractedly made her way up to McGonagall's office during her free period at second hour. She and Draco would be meeting with the Headmistress and a few Aurors to discuss Nott's trial and their next steps. She ignored the curious and incredulous stares that followed her, knowing news of her entanglement with Draco had probably spread far and wide by now.

_Let them gossip,_ she thought mulishly.

As she climbed the various staircases that led to the Headmistress' office on the top floor of the tower adjacent to this particular part of the castle, her mind drifted to the previous night.

After dinner Draco had joined her in front of the hearth in their common room so they could work on their homework together. They'd levitated their largest sofa closer to the fire, had made some tea, and had curled up next to each other with their school books and writing supplies in hand. As an afterthought, Hermione had flicked on the wireless to play classical music quietly in the background. Crookshanks had, of course, insisted upon shoving his way between them so that he was surrounded by body heat on both sides, and had purred the entire time. Both of them had rolled their eyes at his antics but had allowed it.

It had been such a silly, domestic scene, yet it had been perfect precisely because it had been so long since Hermione felt at ease enough to truly relax and enjoy such quotidian distractions. Despite their shared dark history, the atmosphere between her and Draco had been light and warm, with an undercurrent of anticipation. The thought of it caused her to blush slightly.

_I suppose there's a lot more on the table with him now that–_

She was torn from her thoughts when a familiar voice called from her right, "Hermione!"

Startled, she drew her wand only to turn and see Harry walking towards her. Relieved to see him despite his pinched expression, she sheathed her wand and smiled at him.

"Harry! It's obviously wonderful to see you, but what are you doing here?" she asked in confusion.

He had the decency to look sheepish as he guided her into the unused classroom nearest them, but a slight grimace remained on his face.

"We already had Ministry business here today, so we decided we were due for some one-on-one time with you," he answered with frustrating ambiguity.

As they entered the classroom, she noted Ron pacing near the center of the room looking clearly agitated. As happy as she was to see them both, their behavior didn't bode well for this encounter. With a deep sigh, she summoned a chair towards herself, transfigured it into something a little more comfortable, and sat down before speaking again.

"Let me guess," she said pointedly as Harry closed the door behind them, "Instead of writing back, you both decided to express your disapproval in person. Is that it?"

Harry sighed and made to respond, but Ron beat him to it.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, 'Mione. After what you've been through in the past few months, I'm not convinced you're in your right mind anymore," he said bluntly.

All thoughts of diplomacy and patience fled Hermione's mind at Ron's insulting declaration, and she very nearly saw red. Harry cut in before she could respond.

"Ron, that's out of line, and you know it," he said sharply. "You promised you'd think before speaking."

Ron ignored him and took a step closer to Hermione.

"The only way you'd be interested in Malfoy is if you'd been brainwashed or coerced. Given the experimental magic the Sons of Salazar are known for, how do we know you're not under someone else's influence?"

Hermione gaped at Ron, feeling beyond hurt.

"That's beyond the pale! How dare you?!" she asked, enraged and having half a mind to hex him.

"How dare I what, 'Mione? How dare I care about you?! How dare I question behavior that is _completely_ unlike you?!"

The steel in her friend's eyes, the conviction in his voice told her he truly thought what he was doing was for the best—perhaps even in _her_ best interests. Swallowing down the immense swell of disappointment she now felt towards the wizard she'd once trusted with her heart, she felt a wall forming between them, and felt helpless to stop it for the time being. On some remote level, she could appreciate that he thought he was caring for her, but in all the ways that mattered to her, it felt like a slap in the face.

Her movements feeling wooden, she turned towards Harry and asked, "And you?"

Harry's expression contained a fascinating combination of beseeching apology, deep concern, and roaring fury.

Throwing a glare in Ron's direction, he bit out, "There's no indication you were _ever_ under the influence of magical behavioral modifications, Hermione. I don't agree at all with what Ron's implying. It wasn't my intention to make baseless accusations against you today... although I _do_ have to wonder if you've lost your mind. Ron's transgressions aside— _Malfoy,_ Hermione? _Really?_ "

"I don't expect either of you to understand the appeal I see in Draco. Suffice it to say that I've seen him at his worst now, and at his best. And despite it all, I trust him—I trust in the person he's become. I'm not asking you to like him. I'm just asking that you trust in my decision, and give it time."

Ron scoffed, seemingly at her use of Draco's first name, but she ignored him and continued speaking.

"Let me make my own decisions, terrible as you may think they are. Let me fail, if that's what it takes. But godsdamnit, let me at least _try_ to be happy. Why is it so wrong for me to want that?"

By the time she was done speaking, she had tears streaming down her face, and arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. Distantly, she felt glad she'd had the foresight to transfigure something more comfortable for what she'd known would be a difficult conversation.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out to her and murmured, "Herm–"

Seeming to be stuck somewhere between lost, angry and concerned, Ron cut him off, albeit in a softer and more broken tone than he'd used so far.

"Weren't you happy with me?" he asked in a small voice.

Hermione froze, unable to meet Ron's eyes. Lost, she fixed her gaze down as tears dripped onto her lap, not knowing how to tell Ron that no, she hadn't been happy with him—not as lovers, and certainly not as life partners. Fortunately Harry prevented her from having to tell him that so bluntly.

"That's not fair Ron, and you know it. You _promised_ you'd be better than this, promised you wouldn't antagonize her. Why are you doing this?"

Ron's pacing became quicker, his fidgeting more agitated. He shook his head.

"I just don't want to believe it. That good for nothing prat—how could you choose him over me, Hermione?!"

With tears continuing to stream down her face, she clenched her hands and gritted out, "I'm not going to sit here and take this from you. I was on my way to a meeting with McGonagall, and right now that's much more important than sitting here and pointlessly arguing with someone I thought was one of my best friends."

Harry interjected with a guilty tone, "Actually, we're supposed to be in that meeting, too. It's how I knew where to intercept you just now."

Incensed, Hermione shook her head incredulously and pushed herself to her feet. She used her robes to dab at the tear tracks on her cheeks, then cast a few charms on her face to try to erase evidence of the fact that she'd been crying just now. She knew her efforts would probably be in vain, but it was the best she could do given her present circumstances.

"I don't have anymore time for this idiocy," she muttered, detransfiguring her seat and levitating it back to its proper place.

"Oh, but you have time for that Slytherin arsehole," Ron shot back from behind her after she'd turned to leave the room.

"Ron, for fuck's sake!" Harry shouted from beside him, shaking his head furiously.

She stilled, then turned to face the idiot redhead she currently had the misfortune of calling a friend—certainly not a best friend at the moment, not after what had been said in this room. She wasn't even sure she could consider him a friend at all after everything he'd said to her today.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand why I chose him, Ronald. You've shown time and time again that all you care about is revenge and vindication, and I've seen more than enough of those loathsome qualities in my lifetime, thank you very much. Merlin forbid I'm attracted to a wizard whose range of emotional intelligence extends beyond that of a flobberworm!"

He began sputtering a response, "That's not–"

She cut him off, "Do you know who you remind me of today, in all your hateful glory? You remind me of the bigots who hurl insults at me every time I leave a trial at the Ministry."

With bitter resentment, she added, "Draco Malfoy may have once been a prat, and an absolutely terrible example of a human being, but he's grown into someone I'm proud to call my _boyfriend,_ Ronald. After everything you, Harry, and I have gone through together, I would have hoped you'd trust my judgement enough to give my choices a chance. You obviously had different ideas today, though. Above all, I can't believe you'd try to use the trauma and torture I've experienced _against me_. Fuck you for that, _Ronald_."

Dismissing him with hurt raging in her heart, her gaze turned to Harry who was staring at them both with wide eyes.

"Are you ready to go?"

Wearing a remorseful expression, he nodded and glanced nervously at Ron, who'd turned a deep shade of red.

"I–I'm so sorry Hermione, I didn't... I didn't expect this conversation to go this way," Harry said quietly, clearly ashamed of the part he'd played in this trainwreck of a reunion.

She chose not to respond to his apology, and instead turned to leave the room. Both Harry and Ron followed after her silently. Although Ron attempted to speak to her after a few minutes, she tuned him out on their way up the tower. She'd had quite enough of his idiotic attempts at communication for now. Thankfully he got the hint and stopped trying once they reached the last, gargoyle-guarded stairwell that led to McGonagall's office.

She wasn't sure how he knew anything was amiss, but Draco's aloof expression bled into one of concern once his eyes landed on her face as they walked into the Headmistress' office. Thankfully, he didn't say anything about it, nor did McGonagall. She was also grateful when Draco chose not to acknowledge the clear hostility that was emanating towards him from Ron despite the clear importance of this meeting. It was disappointing just how low her ex-boyfriend and supposed friend had been willing to sink today. She cast all thoughts of his folly out of her mind for the time being, and focused on McGonagall, who had started speaking once they took their seats by Draco in front of her desk.

"Thank you all for joining me today. As you know, yesterday with the conclusion of Theodore Nott's trial, we finished with the first out of at least a dozen criminal trials related to the Sons of Salazar that will be taking place in the coming weeks."

She stopped to gesture at Hermione and Draco, "As I'm sure you both noticed, the crowd both inside and outside the courtroom was especially raucous."

Hermione nodded grimly, silently agreeing as she thought back to just how tumultuous everyone had seemed yesterday morning. It had been even worse than anything she'd experienced or seen at the Death Eater trials.

"As it turns out, at least ten of the loudest people in that crowd were under the _Imperius_ curse, according to subsequent Auror investigations that continue into this morning," McGonagall said.

"We know this because of intelligence we gathered from our interrogations of Quartius Parkinson, although he wasn't the one to cast the curses. We were extremely lucky to have taken him by surprise thanks to your discoveries last week."

Hermione was stunned by the news that she and Draco had been surrounded by potential bad actors in the chaos of yesterday's trial. Nausea began to churn in her stomach as she realized just how badly things could have gone for them if the _Imperiused_ members of that crowd had been programmed to do something other than spew hateful vitriol at them. She shivered at the thought of it, and from the corner of her eye noticed Draco glance in her direction. She saw the exact moment when he decided to disregard the consequences, and reached towards her.

Too overcome with the relentless buzz of anxiety at the thought of the danger they'd skirted yesterday, she hesitantly reached to take his hand, resting their intertwined fingers on her armrest. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's eyes widen and Ron's expression morph into a conflagration of ire, but she was sick of pussyfooting around things. What better way to show her two best friends she was serious? And what better way to find some semblance of calm right now? Draco's hand squeezed hers comfortingly as McGonagall continued speaking.

"Thanks to recent research breakthroughs within the Department of Mysteries, and thanks to the experimental nature of the _Imperius_ curses being used by the Sons of Salazar, it's become tentatively possible to trace the magical signatures of certain curses back to their organization in general, and even back to their specific casters in some scenarios."

Intrigued, Hermione perked up at the news, "Is that how the Aurors were able to detect the _Imperius_ at all yesterday, Headmistress? Because of these breakthroughs at the Department of Mysteries?"

McGonagall nodded, "Yes, that's correct Hermione. In fact, it's the only reason such a disorderly crowd of onlookers was allowed to form in the first place, so we could passively scan those present for magical forms of interference. Normally Aurors would never allow such a contentious group to crowd in around you quite that closely—I do hope it wasn't too much for you, dear. Beyond the Aurors that were escorting you two, there were plenty of undercover Aurors and scouts nearby to step in if needed."

The older woman directed her last few words at Hermione with a remorseful lilt in her voice.

Hermione was quick to reassure her, "It was nothing we weren't able to handle, Headmistress."

With a weary sigh, Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose before dropping her hand and her gaze to her desk.

"I'm glad to hear it. This brings me to the considerable number of upcoming criminal trials that remain. It goes without saying that yesterday's vociferous crowd was a message from the Sons of Salazar. It's unclear if they know that we know they used the _Imperius_ so liberally yesterday, but the outspoken antics of the crowd were clearly meant to send a warning. I'm not sure either of you realized it at the time you volunteered your services, but _this_ is what it will look like to contribute materially to the investigation and prosecution of the Sons of Salazar in the coming weeks."

Hermione's hand squeezed Draco's at the reminder, but she said nothing. It was now Draco who chose to speak up.

"Headmistress, do you mean to say we're still expected to testify at these trials despite the potential danger we now know it poses?"

McGonagall nodded gravely and met his gaze head-on.

"Yes, that is precisely what I mean to say, Draco," she said baldly. "To put it bluntly, despite my reservations, the Ministry would like you to continue testifying at these trials to draw out more of these bad actors. They think it's the quickest way to bring down the Sons of Salazar, and much as it pains me to admit it, I agree with them."

Hermione figured both Harry and Ron were already aware of these developments, otherwise they would have had many more questions and reservations about this plan to essentially use her and Draco as _bait_. Then again, they were Aurors now, and she supposed after a certain point they had no choice but to step in line if they wanted to have long careers in law enforcement.

Harry chose this moment to speak up. He directed his words towards Hermione with overdone professionalism, as if trying to distance himself from their earlier debacle.

"That's actually why we're here. We've been tasked with helping you set up a better way of traveling to and from the Ministry for these upcoming trials. With Headmistress McGonagall's help, we'll be temporarily enabling Floo privileges for the fireplace in your shared common room. You'll be Flooing into a private fireplace at the Ministry so we can better control your exposure to crowds outside of the courtroom."

Hermione tensed at the thought that their fireplace would be connected to the Floo network, irrationally afraid that someone with ill intent would find a way to transport themselves into the place that was supposed to be her sanctuary. Draco's thumb began its customary journey around the back of her hand when her hand spasmed around his.

As if sensing her growing tension, and apparently having collected himself enough to engage in the present conversation without resorting to churlish insults, Ron responded lowly, "Don't worry, 'Mione. Those Floo capabilities will only be enabled during the windows of time that correspond to each trial. No one will be able to go in or out of your rooms through your fireplace without the Ministry knowing about it."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly, but she couldn't find it in her to relax completely, nor did she dignify Ron with a response. Logically she knew there was no reason to worry now that he had clarified how the Floo connection would work, but the news of how freely the Sons of Salazar seemed to use the _Imperius_ curse had shaken her faith that they would follow any of the traditional rules of engagement moving forward. Still, she knew that couldn't intimidate her into not testifying, and wouldn't dream of letting this revelation scare her into silence.

_No, it only makes me want to roar louder,_ she thought thunderously.

* * *

After finishing up in McGonagall's office, their group made their way to the Heads' common room to set up the temporary Floo functionality in the fireplace there. It had been beyond awkward to have Draco, Ron, Harry, and McGonagall together in such a small enclosed space. McGonagall, bless her heart, had chosen not to remark on the palpable tension permeating the air despite the glares and thinly veiled insults Ron kept slinging at Draco, and the sneers he'd received in return. Hermione had been surprised at the restraint Draco had shown despite Ron's obvious attempts to provoke him.

It would be an understatement to say her goodbyes with Harry and Ron had been stilted, and it had been a relief when everyone had finally vacated the common room. Even Draco had briefly retreated to his room to freshen up, but he'd be returning soon enough. Hermione removed her robes, her stockings, and her shoes, and threw herself onto the sofa with a whoosh and a groan when she was finally alone. Thursdays were one of her lightest days in terms of school workload. Her next class—a double block of Transfiguration—wasn't for another two hours.

She should have been better prepared for the chaos of today, should have known there'd be hell to pay for the solidarity she and Draco had shown yesterday, and for the relationship she'd decided to confirm today with some of her closest friends. Yet she remained indignant at the thought that she should have to answer for choosing to see the best in someone who'd done everything in his power to do better.

_It's as if people don't actually_ want _those who make mistakes to learn from them,_ she thought darkly. _What's the point of punishment without betterment? Without the latter you're no better than Sisyphus._

She must have fallen half-asleep while staring at the fire because the next thing she knew, Draco was gently lifting her legs and sliding to sit underneath them. Startled, Hermione made to move her legs off the sofa to make room for him, but Draco held them trapped on his lap.

"No, stay here for a few minutes," he said plaintively, "I can see the toll the past few weeks have taken on you, and I can tell how much this morning took out of you, despite how good you are at hiding it. Just rest here for a bit with me, love."

With a sigh, Hermione conceded and relaxed into the cushions and into Draco's light touch. She should have been overcome with self-consciousness right about now, given that she'd removed her robes, shoes, and stockings earlier, and was left wearing only her skirt and button-up blouse. In her current position, she was exposing far more leg than she would have ordinarily felt comfortable with.

_If I can't show some skin with my boyfriend of all people in the privacy of our own common room, then who—if anyone—should get to see it? Just my healers? Of course not!_ she thought mutinously. _We're both adults now, for Merlin's sake!_

Draco was lazily running his fingers along her exposed calves, and although he was staying well within the realm of innocent touches, his fingers still left a trail of fire in their wake as they dragged lightly against her skin. Her skin heated upon realizing how closely his lazy touch mimicked the beginning of the first and only dirty dream she'd had featuring him so far. Goosebumps erupted along her skin at the reminder, and her cheeks warmed further at the thought that she was free to reach out and make that vision a reality anytime now, if she felt so inclined.

Seeming to notice the effect his touch had on her, and obviously galvanized by her lack of objections, it only took another minute or two before Draco's soothing touch had begun to slowly make its way increasingly farther up Hermione's leg. The progression of his fingers past the bend of her knee, the light tickle of his touch along the lower part of her thigh and then higher up at the boundary where the edge of her skirt met her skin—it was intoxicating.

"Do you like this, love?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Mmmhmm, yes, of course I do," she murmured sleepily, feeling boneless and drifting happily in a somnolent daze.

As much as she wanted to think longer upon the carnal promise in the heat of his touch, she was too overcome by the intense relaxation of this moment to push past the languor that began to weigh heavily upon her eyelids. His soft touches along her leg were making her crave the sort of intimacy she'd experienced with him in her lucid dream. Yet in this moment, the feeling of safety his presence provided was enough to let her push those thoughts of intimacy to the side for now. She simply allowed herself to appreciate the careful touch of the wizard who'd captured her heart, and felt herself falling further for him in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** As odd as it sounds, reader feedback wasn't one of the original reasons I decided to start publishing my writing online, but it's become a huge source of motivation for me. I would be writing with or without the attention, but your kind words make it so much more fulfilling! Thanks for your support!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains descriptions of sexual situations. If that type of content potentially bothers you, then I recommend you read the sanitized version or skip the last part of this chapter.

Draco was no stranger to guilt—that insidious visitor which lingered far too long and dug far too deep into one's psyche for his tastes. It was an emotion he'd brushed off as the baggage unique to people with consciences, an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence of accepting that one isn't some soulless and emotionless servant to depravity and fear.

This time, though, that guilt felt different.

This wasn't the guilt of having nearly killed Dumbledore, who'd been a legend and a cultural institution in his own right. This wasn't even the guilt that came with knowing he'd been singularly responsible for allowing Death Eaters entry into Hogwarts during Voldemort's reign. Nor was it matched by the guilt he felt for having bullied Hermione incessantly out of his own nasty desire to externalize his insecurities during their adolescence. That all felt like a lifetime ago now.

Of course, what he felt now was certainly surpassed by the immensity of the guilt he felt for having tortured Hermione while he'd been under the _Imperius_ just a month or two ago, even if he couldn't remember it firsthand. Yet what he felt tonight—and every other night he continued to lie to her—moved with a wormlike insistence all the same. It burrowed into his mind with the tenacity of a secret that knows it can't remain hidden forever.

_I'm lying by omission every time we interact. A little death every minute we spend together that I don't tell her the truth._

He couldn't yet tell if tonight would feel like a pyrrhic victory over the Sons of Salazar once Hermione found out what he'd been up to. And she _would_ find out somehow—which is why he knew he had to tell her first, late as his admission would be. And it would _have_ to be tonight, before it was too late and she found out from someone else, or from the _Prophet_ tomorrow morning, Merlin forbid. After all, this dilapidated shack was the last of the hideouts he would be helping raid—the last known place members of the Sons of Salazar had left to slither back to.

"You alright there, Draco? They didn't get you anywhere else, did they?"

Prather's question pulled him from his pessimistic thoughts and back into the present, where he stood by the lanky Auror and his colleagues amidst a throng of unconscious wizards who lay haphazardly across the grimy floor. They stood in a dingy _Unplottable_ cabin located deep in Wistmans Wood on Dartmoor in Devon—the farthest he'd ventured out of Hogwarts so far for this investigation. He'd helped break into the heavily warded and concealed safe house a few short minutes and a small skirmish ago.

"I'm fine," Draco muttered shortly, wiping his hands along his robes to rid them of remnants of blood and dirt.

Prather nodded, satisfied with Draco's lackluster response, and returned to helping his colleagues bind the unconscious wizards strewn about. This sorry lot were what remained of the Sons of Salazar's high-level members—most of them also former Death Eaters. They'd been incapacitated by the Aurors and Unspeakables who comprised the majority of his assault group tonight. Draco's main role had been to provide the experts entry into what appeared to be the secret society's last viable stronghold and safe house; the last of a few he'd helped them uncover.

Although his nose and mouth were smeared with blood, his broken nose and split lip had already been healed by Auror Miller, whose talents with Healing had also been useful in the Great Hall a few weeks ago. In any case, the wizards responsible for giving him those injuries had spent a minute or two reeling under the effects of the nasty hexes he'd cast as payment before they'd been rendered unconscious and bound for arrest.

_I'm surprised this bunch of cockroaches didn't anticipate how much dirt I'd have on them,_ he thought with a smirk despite his otherwise dour mood.

He wondered if they'd known Lucius had collected such important information about some of these dark-leaning properties, especially considering the confidence with which the Sons of Salazar had been using them. Perhaps Lucius had been collecting that intel throughout the years to build his own cache of personal blackmail material for an eventual comeback in the aftermath of the war.

Draco wasn't sure what to make of it if that was indeed the case. It was better not to dwell on the idea that his father's foresight had perhaps helped him in some small way after all. Best not to think about the shell of a man who still breathed and stared ahead vacantly in one of Azkaban's many depressing cells, but who was otherwise very much dead in mind and spirit—in all the ways that counted.

It was amazing the knowledge he was privy to now that the ancestral magic surrounding the Malfoy name recognized him as the living heir to the family name instead of Lucius. Documents, vaults, and archives that had previously only been rendered visible by his father's touch had been revealed to him once Lucius had received the Kiss. It was only a matter of Prather telling him the name or suspected location of the property under investigation, and Draco could trawl his family's considerable vault of information to see if he could be of service.

Tonight, as it turned out, he'd been quite useful after all—as he'd been quite a few other nights in the past few months.

_And each of those times, I've gone behind her back._

As far as Hermione was concerned, Draco had left Hogwarts tonight to meet with his mother to help resolve a last-minute legal dispute. And technically, that was all true. He _had_ met with his mother at one point tonight while he'd been at Malfoy Manor to plumb his family's considerable archives. And if he squinted hard enough, this _was_ a legal dispute of sorts. Certainly, each of the cretins apprehended tonight would face the full force of the Ministry's considerable legal authority in the coming weeks and months. But he knew Hermione wouldn't see it that way.

_You've lied to her point blank multiple times, and you know it._

The worst part was, he wasn't sure why he continued to do it, except that he didn't want her here. As he surveyed the dark wizards sprawled about, most of them unconscious and all of them now bound, he couldn't stomach the thought of needlessly putting her in this kind of danger again. She'd suffered enough and done enough. And yet he knew it was a weak excuse. She'd understood his motivations the last time they'd spoken about her involvement in the Ministry investigation. For all he knew, she would have seen where he was coming from this time. He hadn't given her that chance, though.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't used to any of this—that's what it really came down to. He wasn't used to trusting someone enough to tell them everything he was up to, was completely unaccustomed to disclosing his activities without asking for something in return. For so long, his relationships and interactions with others had been reduced to transactional exchanges borne of necessity or utility, and almost always cloaked in secrecy. As much as he wanted to be a better person, not even what he felt for Hermione had been enough to change such deeply ingrained behavior so completely and so suddenly.

For all the improvements he'd made, old habits were a bitch to break. He couldn't imagine trying to explain it so baldly to Hermione, though.

_I'll have to try, won't I? I just don't want to lose her in the process..._

* * *

The moment he stepped into their common room later that night, Draco could sense something was off. Hermione sat motionless in a love seat adjacent to the hearth, the line of her shoulders tense as she gazed at the flames with a look that spoke of too many restrained emotions. She didn't turn to acknowledge his entrance, nor did she respond to him when he spoke her name as a question and a greeting, although her hand tightened in a short spasm where it rested in her lap upon hearing his voice.

_Fuck._

Without having to exchange more than that single word with her—her name—Draco knew that somehow she knew he'd lied to her. He crossed the room in a few long strides and sat in the love seat across from her while trying to catch her eye, yet completely clueless as to what he would say if he did. There were a few ways he could try to handle this, but they all stank of the craftiness and insincerity he was used to peddling towards people he couldn't care less about.

_She matters to me, though. So fucking much._

For a split-second Draco felt abject terror at the thought of life without her. He wondered if his deception would be enough to undo the progress they'd made, wondered if this would be enough to make Hermione decide she no longer wanted anything to do with him. He wouldn't blame her, and wouldn't force his presence upon her if she didn't want it, but the thought of it made him want to shudder.

How had this happened? When had he fallen so completely for her that even the thought of her potential absence in his life filled him with such existential dread?

"So how was that legal dispute?" she asked after what felt like an eternity, her quiet voice devoid of emotion.

Her gaze remained fixed with stolid insistence upon the dancing flames, her mouth set into a firm line. If her body language hadn't already made it obvious, it was clear she was deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. He sighed and carded his fingers through his already disheveled hair, feeling at a complete loss.

At length he said, "I'm not used to confiding in people—not at all. Not even you, yet. I'm sorry I lied to you, Hermione."

"That's all well and good," she responded softly, still staring straight ahead, "But how am I supposed to trust you again after this? A–after everything?"

Her face crumpled and her voice broke by the time she was done talking, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. She brought trembling hands up to cover her face as her body began to shake with the force of her sobs. The sight of her tears caused agony to lance through his chest because this time he _knew_ he was their sole cause. There was no _Imperius_ to hide behind this time, no childhood indoctrination, nothing but his own cowardice staring back at him from the depths of his psyche as he watched her collapse into herself. Much as he wanted to reach out to her, he knew that what this moment required was truth, not platitudinal acts of affection, well-intentioned as they may be.

"Hermione, I..." but he stalled, his emotions welling into a gordian knot in his throat as he struggled to find the words that would make this right.

After a few moments she regained her composure enough to lower her hands and say unsteadily, "Harry called via Floo while you were out. He wanted to know if you'd told me the good news yet. Naturally, I had no idea what he was talking about."

She swiped angrily at the tears still coursing down her face and bit out, "Imagine my surprise when he told me you were off somewhere in Dartmoor helping a Hit Squad take out the last remaining Sons of Salazar stronghold tonight. Apparently it's not even the first time you've done this, is it?"

Draco swallowed and forced himself to speak, "No, it wasn't my first time. I've helped the Ministry break into eleven properties across the British Isles since this investigation started."

She scoffed and shook her head. In a tremulous voice she muttered, "I was an idiot for having trusted you, and for having thought you wouldn't play me for a fool."

He frowned, his mind racing for any way to salvage things. However, in a striking moment of clarity he realized what this situation required wasn't the _right_ words—just _his_ words. Whether he said the right or wrong thing tonight, it was clear that no relationship with Hermione would be sustainable if he couldn't acknowledge and work with the aspects of his personality that more often than not got him into trouble. He couldn't lie to himself about this anymore, nor could he continue to lie to her just because he was in denial about who he was in contrast to who he wanted to be.

"What did you expect, love?" he asked caustically, "That in a few short months I'd shake off _eighteen years_ worth of brainwashing? That I'd miraculously and instantaneously learn how to be in a healthy relationship despite the complete absence of anything resembling that in my life?! I'm not some fucking Gryffindor paragon of goodness, Hermione—I'm a godsdamned Slytherin. Did you forget that?"

Her gaze hardened behind the tears still collecting in her eyes, but in a gentler tone he cut off whatever retort she was about to give.

"The day I was released from Ministry custody, I promised myself I'd become someone worthy of your esteem despite the terrible things I've done to you, and despite knowing I'm that despicable Slytherin at heart. But for all my mistakes, you _have_ to see that I've been trying. I fucked up in this case—I _know_ that, and I'm _so sorry_ for breaking your trust by lying to you. But I didn't do it to hurt you, nor because I distrust you."

He nearly choked on his next words, a well of emotion rising up to meet him with unexpected strength, "I–I did it because I'm used to being alone. I'm used to having _no one_ to rely on. Beyond that, I was stupid enough to think you needed to be shielded from yet another dark slice of humanity. I... wanted to be your protector, but I chose the wrong way of going about it."

He saw her resolve begin to crumble despite her better judgement—saw it in the trembling of her lips, in the minute softening of her visage as she finally moved her gaze to meet his. It was as if a lick of the hearth's flames had leapt into her tawny gaze as their eyes met. Amidst the turmoil of her anger and pain, he saw her longing and desire to believe him, and he latched on to that lifeline.

In a beseeching tone he pleaded, "Don't forsake me. Give me the chance to be better— _help me_ be better. Just be patient with me. _Please_ , Hermione*.*"

Silence stretched between them for a small eternity as he waited for her response. In that space of infinite possibilities, his potential futures stretched out before him—those that diverged from this moment; futures in which Hermione wasn't a part of his life, and those in which she was.

Her next words pulled him from his anxious and melancholic train of thought.

"For starters, I don't need a protector—nor do I want one."

Despite her hard tone, her tearful gaze softened as her eyes held his, and his focus zeroed in on the smallest details of her expression, all of which belied her stern words. He felt a tiny spark of hope begin to grow in his chest, and smoothed his hands through his hair to release some of his growing anticipation and tension.

She let out a deep, shuddering sigh, then said more pointedly, "But an equal? A lover? A confidante? Those I welcome, Draco. The question is whether you have any of those things to give. Your actions tonight—and every other night you lied to me—would indicate that you don't."

Despite the pulsing pain her words caused deep in his chest, he could see it now. A future where he could be everything Hermione wanted in a suitor; a life where they were equals, lovers, confidantes, and so much more. Could he do it? Could he change what felt like fundamental aspects of himself after a lifetime of conditioning? For her, he was determined to do it.

"I want all of those things too, witch. And no matter how long it takes, I'm going to prove I'm capable of reciprocating them—if you'll have me. I'm not letting go of what we have without a fight."

Her lips quirked minutely, but thankfully her tears seemed to have stopped, "Well, technically this _was_ the fight, wasn't it?"

Relief coursed through him at her attempt at levity. Perhaps there really was hope for them yet.

"A tame one, if so," he answered wryly, "In which case, now comes the part where you tell me whether you're kicking me to the curb or not because of my stupidity."

He wanted to kick himself for the way he'd phrased it, but felt relieved when her lips pulled up into a small smile. Hermione rose slowly from her seat and padded closer towards the fireplace. Wordlessly, she used her wand to levitate their largest sofa closer towards the hearth, then turned to beckon him to come to her. His heart leapt into his throat at the invitation, and relief coursed through him, so potent he couldn't bring himself to stand at first.

"There will be no kicking of anyone to the curb tonight," she said finally, "because I forgive you."

She curled onto the sofa, and after dabbing away the last remnants of her tears, patted the spot next to her, inviting him to take a seat. After a few moments he was finally able to stagger to his feet despite how jellylike his limbs felt.

When he'd settled next to her so they were facing each other sideways on the sofa, separated by only a few centimeters, she said, "Let me be crystal clear about this, Draco—you hurt me tonight, and every night you lied to me. So, short of a life or death situation, if I ever find out you've lied to me again, it's over between us. And you have a lot to make up for in the meantime."

"Understood," he responded seriously after a few beats, reaching out to grab her hand, "I promise never to conceal the truth from you again, Hermione. And as many times as I've already apologized—I'm sorry I lied to you in the first place. I know I don't deserve it, but you have no idea how much your forgiveness means to me."

Cradling her right hand in both of his, he brought it up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her palm. He was amazed by the strength her deceptively delicate frame belied, and for a split-second his hands tightened around hers when he thought of how close he'd come to losing this—to losing her.

With a sigh she threaded her fingers through his, pulling him closer until she'd brought him in for a chaste kiss. The worst of his anxieties alleviated, he wound his other arm around her waist to pull her closer into his chest. He insistently deepened what had started as a soft touch of their lips, and soon their tongues met in the intimate dance he'd become familiar with over the past few weeks.

_You taste so good, my sweet,_ he mused hungrily, unwilling to break their contact to tell her as much.

As their kiss deepened, he allowed himself to fall slowly onto his back, gently bringing her down with him. She gave a little huff of laughter into his mouth once she ended up sprawled on top of him, and they reluctantly broke apart for air. Both her hands were now splayed across his chest while her legs straddled his lower abdomen, the apex of her thighs _so_ close to the place where he was sure his hard-on would be making an appearance any minute now. As if they had a mind of their own, his hands were trailing lazily up and down her sides, almost tickling her with how lightly his fingers were dragging along her flanks.

A few errant curls had escaped from her topknot to frame her face, and although her eyes were still bloodshot from crying earlier, their lash-lined depths held the warmth of her affection towards him, and the sight only drove his hunger for her to further heights. Still, he was curious to know what she would do next—was curious to know if she'd forgiven him enough to initiate this kind of intimacy tonight, as they'd done a few other nights already. So he remained mostly motionless, content to let her set the pace—at first.

With one hand Hermione reached down to brush a few tousled platinum strands from his face, and she slowly drew her face closer to his. As she closed her eyes and tentatively allowed their lips to make contact once again, his hands stilled to grab onto her waist, holding her tightly against him as their kiss deepened once again. He was surprised and aroused when he felt her hips scooting closer towards his pelvis, grinding against the growing proof of his desire as their kiss extended into a small eternity of welcome romantic delirium, their tongues and bodies dueling playfully with each other. He pulled her closer to him, their bodies rubbing so deliciously against each other in a familiar rhythm.

Hermione's occasional mewls and moans only served to further entice him as the dance between them grew more intense. Together they worked each other into a writhing tangle of limbs, spurred onward by the heat of the hearth beside them, and by the heat of the mutual desire they held for each other. As they broke apart again for air, Draco began to kiss his away along her jawline, and then against the column of her smooth neck as they ground against each other. He felt her slender fingers dig into his chest, and then his shoulders as she sought purchase against the onslaught of his wandering lips.

When he sensed she was close, one of his hands dropped from her waist to her arse, while the other rose to the nape of her neck to tangle in her hair. Despite the layers of clothing that separated them, it only took another few seconds for them to shudder against each other in completion. They remained still for another few moments, their foreheads touching as they breathed harshly into each other's necks. At length, he felt the tension bleed from Hermione's body, replaced instead with the lingering reverberations of their mutual pleasure. When she went limp against him—presumably asleep—he was relieved to feel the physical proof that she could still relax against him despite his most recent transgressions.

_I don't want to let you go_ , Draco mused with satisfaction, his arms tightening around her as he drifted off as well.

_So I'll do everything in my power to make sure I don't have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I apologize to those of you who were expecting my weekly update last week. I was feeling a little burnt out on writing, and I needed a break. For some reason this chapter was really hard for me to write, not necessarily because of the content, but because I just had a lot of other stuff going on IRL. In any case, I'm sorry if I caused any of you to worry! I know the pain of following a WIP only for it to be abandoned, and I promise that's not going to happen with this story! In fact, we've only got another chapter or so left before we wrap up! Thanks for sticking around this long!


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